


Jouska

by Laurensprentiss



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Bodyguard Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29705142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurensprentiss/pseuds/Laurensprentiss
Summary: Jouska (noun): a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play over in your mind."Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are: ‘It might have been.” - Kurt VonnegutWhen 24 year old Aaron Hotchner receives his first official post for the FBI as part of an Ambassador’s security detail, he finds himself entranced by the Ambassador’s 19 year old daughter.With a chip on his shoulder, eager to please and conflicted by his duty to his high-school sweetheart Haley, he must tread lightly - but something about you tells him your presence will linger in his life long after you part ways.Second chances are rare to come by, but 10 years later, when you find yourself being transferred to the BAU, an opportunity arises to find out what could have been. The question remains - will you be able to confront what you feel for one another, or will it be another eternal and haunting "What if?”
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Reader, Emily Prentiss/Reader, Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hotch and Reader's first meeting.

“ _The end is in the beginning and lies far ahead.” **-**_ **Ralph Ellison**

\------

“Haley, listen, I’m gonna have to call you back, I’m about to meet with him right now.”

“Oh my God, you always do this, Aaron, you promised we-”

“- Yeah, we will, I promise but I really gotta go. Bye.” He rushes out in a low voice as he sets the telephone down. He gathers himself, buttoning his suit jacket as he strides confidently towards the steps, butterflies in his stomach.

His first official assignment, and he was determined to make it count. Months of gruelling training, exams and physicals were finally going to allow him to get his foot in the door and get to where he wanted to be. He takes a steadying breath before knocking on the door three times and waiting for the voice inside.

“Yeah. Come in.” Barnes lifts his gaze from the paperwork he was engrossed in to beckon Aaron forward. “Take a seat.”

“Yes sir, you wanted to see me?” He wrings his hands unconsciously.

He sees the bright eyed agent’s behaviour betraying him and smiles knowingly. “It’s alright, no need to be nervous, son. This here’s good news for you. In fact, these are your transcripts and reports I’m looking at.“ He smiles. "You were one of the most promising cadets during your training stint, and the work I’ve seen from you so far is more than I’d expect from a fairly new recruit.”

Hotch lets out a half- breath, half laugh of relief as he lets his shoulders relax. “Thank you, sir. It means a lot coming from you.” He smiles almost bashfully, the words ringing unfamiliar in his ears. Praise had always been a foreign concept to him thus far.

“Not so fast, I still need to tell you why I called you in today.” He sets his pen down now, looking Hotch in the eyes as he tells him, “your talent hasn’t gone unnoticed, which is why I’m assigning you to the personal and home security detail of the US Ambassador of France while he’s stateside.”

His heart pounds. Barnes’ talk of his team and responsibilities feel far away now and Aaron tries to rapidly take in everything that he’s saying. This is it. The opportunity he’d been waiting for to prove himself as an agent of the bureau and not just a trainee. Barnes brings him out his mind by asking him if he has any questions and tells him to go meet with his new team. He shakes Barnes’ hand and thanks him for the opportunity, before quickly excusing himself.

Barnes interrupts him as he’s leaving. He turns to face his superior as he tells him, “I’m trusting you on this one, Hotchner. The Ambassador will explain when you meet him but this one’s personal.”

“Yes, Sir.” He ducks his head out of respect and turns to leave to be briefed with his team.

————

“Alright everybody, you know the drill. Make your introductions, follow protocol and see the Ambassador’s staff for your assignments.” McCall commands over the comms.

He directs Aaron to take the next left as the SUV’s pull into the driveway of the sprawling estate, lined with perfectly groomed grass and trees. As they step out of the cars, the double doors open as your father and his assistants step out. A large man in stature, the Ambassador demands attention but his smile is welcoming - warm, even. Eight agents in total make their way over the man as he walks them through the grand foyer of the home.

Hotch has a strange feeling in his stomach, half excitement, half dread. He feels out of his depth. Small. And he doesn’t like that feeling.

Niceties exchanged and introductions made, the Ambassador beckons McCall over to him while the other agents speak with his staff. McCall leans over and tells Aaron to come with him as the three of them step into an office.

“Sir, it’s lovely to see you again. This is Agent Hotchner, the one Agent Barnes told you about.” McCalls explains. Hotch steps forward to offer your father a firm handshake but still doesn’t quite understand what is happening as he looks around confused.

The Ambassador lets out a short laugh. “I take it Barnes didn’t quite explain the scope of your duties here. He has a tendency to be quite dramatic.”

Hotch shakes his head as he laughs slightly, and explains that he was told he would be informed of his duties once the initial meeting had taken place.

“Well, alongside the standard home and personal security, I have an additional, sort of special request.” The Ambassador takes a beat and asks McCall and Aaron to take a seat. “My daughter, she-. She was due to take off to Yale this summer, but it appears that somebody has been following her. And for some time.”

He pulls out his desk drawer and takes two Manila folders, placing them in front of McCall and Hotch. “As you can see these photos go back to last summer, outside of my daughter’s apartment, the gym, her school.” He rubs a hand over his stubbled chin and sighs. “Then came the mysterious packages delivered to her door. Sometimes flowers, her favourite chocolates, jewellery. And then the notes.”

The two agents flick through the folder to find photocopies of notes, dotted with specks of blood. Hotch mumbles the last words written on one of the notes. “Watch me earn you.”

“That last note was delivered with all of the pictures of my daughter. It’s because of this, that I advised my daughter to defer for a year, until we can find this man and asked her to move back home, here with me.” He looks tired.

Hotch looks from McCall to the Ambassador and back again in confusion. “Pardon me, Sir, and I mean no disrespect at all, but why me? I’m still fairly new at this, and while I would be honoured to take this on, I just want to make sure that you think I’m the right man for the job.”

“Well, I know you’ve taken the profiling course over at Quantico and you come highly recommended from Barnes.” He reassures Hotch. “I have faith in you and McCall. Your job is twofold I suppose, as well as providing a security detail, you’ll also be tasked with investigating this whole thing and getting to the bottom of this person’s identity. And because of your age, the person who’s following my daughter will simply think you’re a new friend instead of law enforcement.”

It finally sinks in for Hotch now. He nods his agreement slowly and thanks him for the opportunity. There’s a knock at the door and the Ambassador calls out for whoever is on the other end to come in.

“Ah speaking of my daughter, here she is!” He stands up with a smile. McCall and Hotch turn to face you as you walk into the room and close the door behind you. you feel a pair of eyes following you as you do. The agents both stand as your father makes his way over to you to hug you. “We were just talking about you sweetheart.” He tells you as he places a kiss on your temple.

“All good things, I hope!” You tease as you step forward to shake their hands and introduce yourself. You shake Agent Hotchner’s hand as he towers over you, holding your gaze, your hand small in his. “Call me Aaron. Or Hotch, whichever works.” He chuckles.

You smile as you share a moment but he looks down quickly and lets go of your hand. He’s handsome, you think. He stands at 6'2 with broad shoulders and chest, dressed in a suit and tie and his slight beard and fluffy hair gives him a rugged look. His cheekbones and jawline are sharp and he has a disarming smile.

“These are the agents I told you about, honey. They’ll be accompanying you while we get to the bottom of this.” Your father says.

“Yes ma'am, rest assured we will do everything we can to catch this man.” Hotch says as he looks into your eyes, his gaze flickering to your lips for a quick second before looking away.

This should be interesting, you think.

\------


	2. Intrigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch and Reader spend some time alone. Sparks fly but a dark figure looms in the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of firearms, stalking, blood. Some tension.

_"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.”_ \- **Oscar Wilde**

————

You curse yourself as you walk down the concrete path, leading the way for Hotch to follow behind you. Spring in Virginia is unreliable and you suddenly find yourself cold and underdressed in your skirt and turtleneck. The cold is harsh as you hug your arms close to your body, your teeth chattering slightly. Your father advised that maybe it would be best if you and Agent Hotchner got to know one another better, and where better than right here on your father’s sprawling estate, where he could make sure you were safe.

You hear rustling behind you as Hotch catches up. “Here, ma’am. Let me.” You do a double take to see Hotch shrugging off his suit blazer, his shoulders broad and arms strong, gun holstered on his hip. You hold out your arms as he slips the oversized blazer through your arms from behind you, unconsciously rubbing your arm as he does. You steal a quick glance up at him as he stands over you, to find he’s already watching you intently, his gaze flickering to your lips again. You smile and look away.

“Aren’t you cold?” You worry, as he shrugs.

He chuckles and rubs a hand over his beard. “I tend to run a little hot anyway. Besides, my mother would kill me if she knew I hadn’t offered a lady my jacket in the cold.” He finds himself staring at you unwittingly, taken by the sight of his too-big blazer wrapped around your body.

You raise your eyebrows in amusement and laugh. “Ah, so he’s a gentleman?” You tease. You cross the blazer over your body and bury your face in the collar, inhaling his scent, something citrusy and musk. It’s warm. Comforting. You feel butterflies in your stomach as you look back up at him and nudge him. 

“Thank you. You’re sweet.” You smile. 

You both find your stride as you start to walk together, down the concrete steps and towards the grounds. “So. FBI huh? My father tells me you’re a profiler too?” You inquire as you look up at him.

His dimples peek through as he smiles gently, his hands in his pockets now, more relaxed. “Ah not quite. I’m training to be a profiler and I had the requisite training to be on a security detail, so here I am.” He explains. “Your father told me you were supposed to head off to Yale this summer? What’s your major?”

“Poli-Sci.” You lament. “Family tradition, but I’d love to do something like criminology or psychology.” He nods his understanding as you continue. “Ultimately, I know Dad wants me to do whatever makes me happy, but the thought of breaking tradition? It’s scary, you know?” 

“Yeah-“ He stops himself. You look up at him as he shakes his head. “Never mind.” You raise your eyebrows and ask for him to go on but he declines by saying it would be breaking protocol. 

You stop walking and stare at him a moment and he breaks. “Look it’s okay, I know the feeling. My father, he was a lawyer. His father too. But if you know your heart’s somewhere else, maybe it’s best to go with that.” 

“Wow.” You nod and resume walking. “So you’re a gentleman, and a fountain of wisdom. Got it.” You chuckle. 

You fall into a comfortable silence, stealing glances at each other, his stride in keeping with yours, bodies just close enough to touch. You pass a row of kept maple trees and down to an old black gazebo where you remember spending your childhood, sheltering yourself from the rain, or playing hostess with your late mother. You perch yourself on the ledge, swinging your legs as Hotch maintains a distance from you.

“Hey, so-“

“-I” He apologises and signals for you to go first. 

You wince slightly as you take a breath. “I was just going to say, that I suppose we should talk about the elephant in the room?” His face steels and his chest rises, his mouth open.

“The- I’m sorry. The what?” He enquires. 

“I take it my father showed you the pictures the stalker took of me?” You watch his shoulders drop and his face relax as he realises. 

“Yes ma’am-” 

“Please. No ‘ma’am’. I feel like my grandmother. Just call me by my name.” You joke. 

“Sorry.” He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “But to answer your question, yes, I did see the photographs, your father showed me the file. I also saw the uh-” 

He pauses, not knowing quite how to continue. “-The notes.” He walks closer to where you’re sat on the ledge, the both of you almost the same height this way as he continues. You watch him try to find the words. “I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily, but you know this is serious? I mean the notes in and of themselves are a huge issue but given the fact that you’re someone in the public eye, it’s-”

“- I know. It’s why I’ve been living here, which makes it hard because I have an internship and an apartment in Georgetown.” You explain that you love being closer to home, and to your father but not having your independence makes you feel as though you’re suffocating. “But I’m going to be moving back.” You explain. 

Aaron stares at you in surprise and immediately advises against it, walking closer to you until you’re face to face to list the reasons why he thinks it’s a bad idea. You understand the gravity of the situation but you can’t help but stare at the way his lips move when he speaks, and how his arms and shoulders seem so strong, his dress shirt fitted just perfectly. How his hair looks so soft and how he still towers over you, his scent all around you. You realise he’s stopped talking and is just staring at you, waiting for you to respond, his hand holding the ledge next to you, encasing you in. 

Your breath catches and you swallow, looking up at him with wide eyes as you realise his gaze is fixed on yours, his eyes soft and glancing at your lips. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you can feel heat rising on the back of your neck, your heartbeat pronounced. You swallow again, taking a deep breath and losing your nerve. You hop off the ledge and walk around him, needing some distance. “Look, you make fair points, but seeing as I have permanent security until we catch this son of a bitch, I don’t think it’s too outlandish. I’ve discussed it with my dad, too.” You reason. Hotch is still frozen in place. 

You continue, “-Besides, me being locked away here, isn’t going to help catch him. He knows he can’t get to me here. But giving him a chance to think he can get to me might work! And I don’t want to put my entire life on hold because of some psycho who thinks I owe him something. If he gets too close, you can catch him, right? Set some sort of trap or something?” He turns now, watching as you dart around the gazebo reasoning that it could be safe. 

He explains that he needs to clear it with his superiors and the Ambassador before he can allow it to happen, but that ultimately, he will try his best to make sure your needs and wants are met. You nod in understanding. “Look, the last I want to do is to put you in an uncomfortable situation, but you get where I’m coming from, right, Agent Hotchner?” 

He has a strange feeling in his chest when he hears his name come from your mouth but he plays it off, promising he’ll discuss it with Barnes and your father today. You thank him as you slide past him to get to the steps of the gazebo and return back to the house. You walk back down the path you came from, in a comfortable but buzzing silence, the both of you trying to make sense of the moment you shared back there, as you steal a glance at his face, his brows furrowed and his jaw hard. He catches you, his eyes on yours as he asks, “You okay?”

You take a beat. “Yeah.” You nod. “Yeah, I think I am.” You reply as you bury your nose in the collar of his blazer. 

—————– 

You’ve been waiting in the foyer outside of your father’s office for around 40 minutes when the door finally opens. The past 40 minutes had consisted of heated discussions in angry whispers taking place on the other side. Hotch, McCall, Barnes and your father were discussing the matter of whether it would be feasible for you to return to your own apartment, when you had made your opinion more than known. Your father’s assistant calls you in and closes the door behind you as you watch Agents Hotcher and McCall rise from their seats. You hold your breath.

“Well, it appears you can be quite persuasive, young lady.” You rush to his side before he can even finish his sentence, throwing your arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. He laughs as he continues, “There are, however, measures that myself and the team will be putting in place to make sure you’re safe while you’re away.” His eyes look tired and worried. “Effective immediately, Agents Hotchner and McCall will be teaching you self-defence and how to safely hold and discharge a firearm. I want you to be in a position to defend yourself, should you need to.” 

You feel worry and a twinge of guilt as you realise you are all your father has left in this world. The thought of your father having to think about how you’re to defend yourself from somebody who has made his intentions this clear, fills you with sadness. You hold his hands in yours and squeeze reassuringly. “Thank you, Dad. I know this isn’t easy, but I’m going to be fine. Okay?” 

He takes a deep breath and cups your face in his hands, placing a kiss on your forehead. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” 

You turn to face Agents Hotchner and McCall to thank them too. You share a knowing smile with Hotch, knowing that while you were indeed persuasive, it was Hotch that would have sealed the deal and that it would have been his idea to implement the self-defence and firearm safety. Your father walks you all out of your office and you turn to reassure him again. He informs you that Agent McCall will be staying for a while longer to finalise the details of the security schedule and that Hotch would drive you to your apartment. 

“Well, I guess we should start packing?” Hotch asks as you both walk out of your father’s office. 

“Who says I’m not already packed?” You smirk. 

\------


	3. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch and Reader become friends, but Reader must come face to face with a harsh truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of stalking, pining.

_“The rest is just wishes and hope, the most fragile of things.” -_ **Sabaa Tahir**

———

You strain as you bring the last of the boxes in, Hotch taking it from you as you walk in the door. It was now day 7 of what you thought would be a one, maybe two day task at most. The Virginia rain, apartment clean up and an excess of boxes had meant for a week of non-stop work and your body was begging for respite. You follow Hotch into the spare room where he sets down the box, the room almost full. He’s more laid back today, suit blazer and tie removed, strewn around haphazardly, his sleeves rolled up. You couldn’t help but take in the sight of his back as he had carried the box in, his forearms thick and flexing. You feel yourself flushing and snap out of it quickly, remembering you have work to do. 

You take a scan of the room and curse as you realise you forgot the cutlery box, turning to go back outside and retrieve it. Hotch turns around in surprise. “What is it?” He asks, a little breathless. He brings his forearm up to wipe the sweat off his brow, and you find yourself getting caught up again. 

_Damn it._

“Oh it’s nothing, I think I left a box in your car. I’ll go down and grab it real quick.” You tell him. He offers to go but you tell him you could use his help moving the boxes that are already here. The skies are grey and overcast as you step out into the foyer, and as you get closer you can hear the rain pelting the window, getting louder and heavier. You swear under your breath and run to the car, the rain hitting your skin like relentless little bullets, soaking you through. 

As you duck your head into the trunk to retrieve the last box, you feel a chilling sensation down your back, your body shooting up and looking around. You feel acutely aware of somebody’s eyes on you but the street is next to empty, almost eerily so, everybody retreating indoors to escape the miserable weather. Your hair stands on end and your skin erupts in goosebumps, only partly due to the cold weather, as you look around wide eyed, and unsettled trying to scan the street. 

“What? Are you taking a shower down there?” You hear from above you and you look up to see Hotch’s head and shoulders hanging from the window. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right up.” You say absent-mindedly, a pit in your stomach. You shake it off, thinking it’s probably just paranoia and hunger and work your way back inside. Once safely inside, you take a cursory look back one more time. 

“ _No, you’re just nervous, it’s fine._ ” You mutter under your breath to yourself.

You’re still in your head when the elevator doors open and you crash face first into a hard chest, the now soggy cardboard slightly squished against you and the person you’re pressed up against. “Easy! Easy.” The familiar voice laughs as he steadies you. He takes the box from you and starts to walk back down the hall in front of you. “You seriously didn’t see me coming?” 

You follow behind him in your wet boots, trying not to slip, letting out an unamused laugh. You still feel deeply unsettled, only letting out a sigh of relief once you’re finally home, door locked behind you. 

See here’s the thing about having a long-term stalker. You may not know who, what, why or how - but when someone’s watching. Deep down. _You know._

“Hey, you okay?” Hotch asks, his voice soft as he tracks your movements with his eyes. He watches you retrieve one of your dad’s old Yale sweatshirts and he ducks his head slightly so he can get a look at your face, taking away any chance you have of lying to him. You avoid eye contact and tell him you’re okay, as you try and slip past him out of the spare room and towards the bathroom. You slip on a piece of soggy cardboard stuck to the tile as you do and feel Hotch’s hands grab your arms to steady you, half-pinning you to the wall. 

You brace your forearms on his front, still clutching the sweatshirt. You look down at the culprit stuck to the bottom of your shoe and roll your eyes, embarrassed. You only realise how close you are when you go to move and realise Hotch has his arms braced against yours, caging you in. His brown eyes rake over your face, flitting to your lips, down to your chest and back up - and although you’re not moving, you swear you can feel him get closer. Heat radiates from his body and you feel yourself shiver, the rain cooling on your skin now, the moment affecting you. His scent invades your senses. 

His eyes are hooded when he swallows thickly, as the abrasive ringing of a telephone interrupts you. He releases you quickly as he almost snaps out of his trance and turns to retrieve his cellphone. Your heart thrums in your chest, a prickling heat creeping up your face and neck. You find yourself locked in place again, your eyes unblinking until he speaks from the other side of the room. 

_What the hell was that?_

You push yourself off the wall and hurry across the living room and into the hallway, offering him a flushed smile as he speaks into the phone. 

You just want to get the hell out of there. 

“Hello?” His voice comes out gravelly and low as he moves aside for you to enter the bathroom. You faintly hear a woman’s voice on the other end and you quickly lock the door behind you. You let the water run as you strip and as much as you know you shouldn’t, you press your ear against the door. 

_“I’m just making sure everything’s okay.” You think out loud. “It’s fine. This is fine._ ” You reason with yourself.

“Haley, I have to work late tonight.” You freeze. 

_Haley?_

He continues, “I know, I’m sorry hon, but I’m on assignment right now, maybe we could go see your parents another weekend? Or maybe you could go with your sister?” 

_Haley?_

_Hon?_

You feel cold. Your heart sinks. Like you’re falling down a hole. You feel naive, foolish and so mortified that you even entertained the thought of - well the thought of what? _Agent Hotchner?_

You shake your head to try and snap yourself out of it. You’re freezing cold now and the heat from the water is steaming up the mirror. You step into the shower, letting the hot water wash over you, the feeling of your body slowly restored, hands and feet prickling. 

You shower, no real thought or effort put into anything, but all you can think about is Hotch’s voice replaying in your head. 

_Haley._

You chide yourself for even being affected, reasoning that you hardly even know the guy. He’s there because your father hired him. You’re a client. But then you think back to the day you met him, the way his eyes held your gaze and the way your hand fit in his. The way he gave you his blazer, the brush of his hands over your shoulders. The way he smelt. 

_No._ Doesn’t matter. You don’t know him. He’s there to do a job. 

The almost moment you had in the gazebo when you were almost at eye level, his body between your legs. His strong arms and broad chest-

_No._

The way he’d just gazed into your eyes and you could almost swear he leaned in when he looked at your lips. 

Almost. But then- 

“ _Haley._ ” You whisper. 

You change the water temperature to cold, not caring that the constant change in temperature couldn’t possibly be good for you. You needed to cool off. 

He’s someone else’s. And she’s probably great. She had to be, right? And even if she wasn’t, even if he wasn’t somebody else’s, it still wouldn’t make him yours. Your heart sinks involuntarily at that. It’s the truth, you know this. So then why does it cut at you? You let out a prolonged groan, hoping the sound of the water covers up your frustration. 

“Man, I need to get laid.” You laugh as you dry off. You pull your shorts and sweatshirt on, taking the comfort in the old, worn material, hugging it close. You wrap your hair and take a deep, steadying breath, wiping the steam off the mirror. 

You slap a smile on your face as you talk to your reflection. _“You’re fine. You’re totally fine. It’s fine, I’m good. I’m fine._ ” You resolve. You repeat it over and over like a mantra. 

You step out into the hallway, the air refreshing. And then you see him, and your body betrays you. Your heart skips a beat and you curse yourself. 

_Shit._

You take another breath and walk down the hallway into the living room, where he sits, his face illuminated only by a lamp in the corner. He’s reading something pensively, a hand stroking his beard. The closer you walk, the more you recognise the handwriting and the stationary, the aggressive scrawl all too familiar. He hears the pitter patter of your feet against the tile but his expression doesn’t change. 

“It’s him?” You shudder. 

He doesn’t respond. Just nods. Hands you the letter and a blue latex glove wordlessly. You grip the glove and letter, not bothering to put it on your hands, your vision blurring. Your body goes cold. 

_“YOU THINK I’D FORGET ABOUT YOU? YOU’RE ALL MINE AND YOUR LITTLE FBI FRIEND IS GOING TO GET WHAT’S COMING TO HIM. WELCOME BACK MY LOVE.”_

“Oh God.” You drop the letter. Hotch shoots up from his seat and walks around the sofa to steady you. “Oh God, oh God, no no no.” 

“Hey. Hey. It’s okay, I got you.” He wordlessly sits you down on the sofa and rubs your shoulders. “I sweeped the hallway when I saw the note and called McCall and Barnes. They already sweeped the outside and surrounding areas, Metro PD’s been told to keep an eye out. But he keeps his face out of the camera, so we can’t see him.” 

“No- no it’s not that. Earlier today. I-“ 

“You what?” His eyes widen. “Did something happen? When you were outside?” 

You tell him that you felt like somebody had been watching you earlier when you went to grab the boxes, but you thought it was just your imagination. 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.” You whisper. “And now he’s after you, too.” You feel a twinge of guilt deep in your chest. 

His heart _drops._

“Hey, hey no c’mon. You don’t need to apologise here.” He grasps your hands in his, squeezing gently, his thumbs rubbing small circles on the back of your hands. His eyes are so earnest when he looks at you, you feel like you could cry. “We will get him. I promise you. Don’t worry about me, I can handle it.” He squeezes a little with every word to make his point. 

You squeeze his hands back, a silent confirmation of his promise to you, and your gesture floods his body with a kind of warmth of you he’s wholly unfamiliar with. All he can do is just watch your face as you go through the motions and he wishes he could find a quick fix for you. His thumbs keep rubbing small circles on the back of your hand and his phone rings again. 

He gives your hands a squeeze and excuses himself. “Yes, sir. A note. Yes, I agree, possibly delusional, he’s not going to go without a fight. Yes, Sir, I’ll be right there.”

He sits beside you and tells you he needs to go meet with Barnes at the office to debrief him on the situation and hand the note over to evidence. “I’m gonna wait until McCall gets here, and I’ll be right back to relieve him. Okay?” 

You fuss and tell him that he should go and that you can take care of yourself, it’s not like the son of a bitch will rush back in a hurry. “Besides.” You walk over to the spare room and pull out a baseball bat from the boxes, Hotch behind you. “I have just the thing to bash the bastard’s head in.”

He chuckles. “While I’m impressed by your choice of weaponry, I’d be breaking protocol if I left now. I can wait.” You thank him nonetheless. 

When McCall does arrive, he informs you he’ll stand outside so you can get some privacy if you need to rest. It’s almost midnight when Hotch returns, the moonlight illuminating the sofa on the living room. He finds you asleep in the fetal position on the couch, blanket around your waist, hugging yourself close for warmth, baseball bat by your side. He smiles at the sight, his heart warming at the almost comical juxtaposition of your peaceful face and right next to it, a baseball bat. He chuckles. 

He pulls the blanket up over your shoulders and kneels down. His pinky finger pushes a lock of hair out of your face with a feather light touch, careful not to wake you. He takes a moment, just to watch, to _be_ in the moment for the sake of it. He wants nothing more in that moment than to hold you, to lean in, just a little… _and you’d almost be touching_ …

His face steels. But he has a commitment to make on one hand and a job to do on another. And he’s nothing if not a man of principle and so finds it in him to drag himself away from you to slap some cold water on his face. 

Your eyes tear open as you hear him walk away. Your heart pounds as the footsteps retreat, your body buzzing. You’d heard him come in, your eyes too tired to open or to greet him. But then he came closer, and you kept them closed still. You’d smelt his cologne as he was just _inches_ from you, his breath on your face. You’d felt the way he’d brushed the hair off your face so tenderly and the way he almost leaned in…

Did he want-

- _No_. _He has Haley._

But he’s here. That’s what matters. 

You banish the thought from your head and bury your face in the blanket, sleep coming a little easier now that you felt safe. Truly safe. 

\------


	4. Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch reckons with the implications of his assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of stalking. Mutual pining and lots of tension.

_“Rummaging in our souls, we often dig up something that ought to have lain there unnoticed. ” -_ **Leo Tolstoy**

——

Your breaths come sharp and short, sweat dripping from your forehead as you bounce on the balls of your feet slightly, lungs burning as you throw punches at the boxing pads that Agent Hotchner holds out in front of you. You throw your weight into every punch, hitting out the aggression and anger at the unknown shadowy figure your mind had conjured up. The person who was trying to take your life away. The gym smells like old rubber and sweat as Hotch calls out combination numbers over the flat snapping sound of your gloves hitting the pads. His head is down and his eyes are laser focused on you, following your every move. You throw a punch on his left hand as his right comes up and taps you on your face. You groan in frustration. 

“Come on, we’ve been through this!” He repeats. “Don’t get too into your head. Block.” He brings his own hand up to demonstrate, his thick arms flexing under his t-shirt. “When you’re throwing your jabs, make sure your other hand’s by your face, nice and high, okay?” He places his hand about level with his cheek as he shifts his feet, throwing jabs at the air. You can’t even pretend anymore, watching him punch and flex makes your breath hitch and your thighs squeeze . God, you felt so naive. Stupid even. The situation is quite literally life or death and he’s teaching you to defend yourself against your stalker and instead of focusing, you’re imagining how strong he really is. 

“Got it?” He snaps you out of your stupor. You nod. “Okay, try again. Remember, the key is to block.” You nod again, and meet his pads faster and more accurately this time, blocking his attempts to get at your face. He laughs approvingly, a grin on his face. “Alright, that’s more like it! Good girl.” Your heart rate increases at that, warmth pooling, the words of praise coming from his mouth unleashing butterflies in your stomach. 

_Good girl?_

The momentary lapse in concentration has his pad make contact with your face as you grunt. He shoots you a bewildered and slightly disappointed look. “Okay, tell me what went wrong there, because you were doing good.” He demands. You can feel heat rising up your neck and chest while you try to play it off. Authoritative Agent Hotchner is an Agent Hotchner you hadn’t had the pleasure of witnessing until today, and you think that maybe you’d want him to stick around a little longer. Maybe even push his buttons to see how far you could take it. Maybe hear him shout orders at you and lavish you with praise. 

He whistles. “Hey. Over here.” He claps the pads together as he narrows his eyes at you, shaking his head. You blink at him as he undoes the straps on the bottom and throws them aside, striding over to you. His shorts ride up just slightly, exposing his flexing quads as he stalks towards you. 

_Oh, he’s solid._

He corners you against the ropes of the ring as he asks you again, his eyes burning into yours. “What. do you. think. went. wrong?” You blink up at him, words not coming easy now that you felt so exposed. He swallows thickly, exhaling hard through his nose. He turns to stand in the middle of the ring. 

“C’mere.” He beckons you forward with his fingers. 

_Okay._

You stomp your leg slightly, rolling your eyes. “Why? I wanna be done now, what, we haven’t done enough?” His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. He takes another harsh breath through his nose to steady himself, his eyes flicking from your eyes to your rising chest in your sports bra. 

“I’m not going to ask you again. Come here.” 

_That’ll do it._

“Yes, sir.” You concede sarcastically. You kiss your teeth and sigh, making your way over to him, watching as you swear he blushes slightly. He adjusts the waistband on his shorts as you come close. 

_Oh._

He clears his throat. “Remember the hand to hand stuff we went through? Again.” He throws a couple of jabs towards you, travelling in a loose circle and you block them with your forearm just as quickly as they come. 

He makes a point to get you comfortable, until he throws a hook which you swat downwards and try to twist his arm. You try to throw a hook of your own but you’re too slow. He ducks and wraps his arm around your waist, his other hand catching your fist and crossing it across your chest, allowing your weight to fall back on him as he carries you backwards a couple of steps. 

You curse in frustration, wincing slightly as you feel a stitch coming. His breath is soft on your neck, cooling against the sweat. You’re hyper aware of his bare arm around your exposed stomach, the other holding your arm across your chest. The length of his body presses snugly against you as your breathing falls into a rhythm, his thumb rubbing small circles on your stomach. 

“Hotchner!” You jump as the voice shouts from the hallway. You separate quickly, stretching out your neck as footsteps approach, McCall emerging from the dimly lit hallway. He’s in his work clothes and he looks agitated, his eyebrows pulled tight into a frown, mindless repetitive glances at his watch. “There you are.” He breathes out. “I’ve been lookin’ all over for you. A word?” 

Hotch takes a cursory look back at you as you try to busy yourself with stretches, anything to not make eye contact. He steps out of the ring from under the ropes and while your ears are keenly trained on their conversation, you can’t quite make out anything they say, their voices hushed and intense. You figure you’re probably done for the day anyway and make a start on removing your gloves and tape. 

You squeeze yourself past Agents Hotchner and McCall to get to the showers, offering a tight smile as you do, feet fast on the worn Lino floor. You step into the changing rooms but leave the door open just enough to eavesdrop. You curse yourself mentally for developing such a horrible habit, your grandmother’s voice in your head lecturing you on the evils of listening in to conversations which aren’t meant for you. 

_Still._

“What, and it mentioned me by name? How the-“ Hotch asks, his volume increasing. 

Agent McCall shushes him. 

“How the hell does he know my name? And how did it even get through? They didn’t see anything?” He hisses.

Your eyes widen. Another note? Your stomach starts to churn. Truth is, yes it had been your idea to move back and make yourself vulnerable, and yes you had felt independent and empowered when suggesting it. But the more time went on, the more you felt like a sitting duck, unable to escape the shadowy hands closing in around your neck. 

Metro PD really needed to get better at talking quietly. You’d heard some officers outside your door a few days ago talking about how the FBI preliminary profile speculated that this guy was an obsessive, delusional stalker who’d likely kill himself, you and anybody else in his way, rather than let you go. Since then, those voices had played like echos throughout random points in the day, a sharp pang and your stomach would drop when you’d remember. The back of your neck would burn and you’d feel like your knees could give out. 

How many people were you putting in danger because you didn’t want to compromise your freedom? Was your father right? Would they all be better off? Agent Hotchner had been on his list since the day you moved in, and now the psycho knew his name. You’d heard them, he’s never going to let you go, and now you’re a pawn, waiting to draw him out, unsure of whether they’ll even be able to stop him once he gets too close. 

Your vision tunnels. 

“He didn’t drop it off directly this time.” Agent McCall tells Hotch. “An Officer Mullbeck collected the mail from the mailroom to bring up but he didn’t do a sweep. I did when I arrived and found it lying inside a magazine.” 

“So, what? He’s doing counter-surveillance now? Knows we’ve got guys posted outside?” 

“Probably. I got a call that said they got a tiny bit of his face on camera, I’m on my way to the tech guy to figure out what they can get, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. He’s good. Knows where the cameras are.” 

You chew the inside of your cheek, your breathing shallow so as to not alert them that you’re listening in. Your heart races at the thought of this person, this animal just lurking in the shadows, nameless, faceless, ready to take you down with him. 

McCall tells Hotch not to get too worked up and to just stick to routine while they work out a solid profile. 

“Alright, but what do I tell her? She acts like she’s fine but I know she’s scared, anybody would be in this situation. Do I tell her about this note?” He asks. Your face softens a little at the concern in his voice, a small smile tugging at your mouth as you lean against the door. 

Footsteps approach the changing room, you gently and quickly allow the weight of the door to fall almost all the way, allowing the last few centimetres to close slowly. 

You hear a knock at the door. Hotch clears his voice as he shouts from the other end. “15 minutes! We gotta get to the gun range. I’ll wait out here.” 

———

The air feels heavy in the Suburban, a lot on both of your minds but the unspoken words hang like smog in the SUV. He doesn’t know you heard him, but you did anyway - and the implications of what you heard - it would take some reconciling. 

You glance at Hotch out of the corner of your eye, for the hundredth time since you got in the car, his right hand firm on the wheel, his left elbow perched on the window, index finger rubbing his lips. His frown is perpetual at this point, jaw tensing and relaxing. You can’t find the words. 

“I can feel you looking at me.” He mutters matter-of-factly. “If you have something you wanna say, say it.” His eyes don’t leave the road. You feel heat rise in your face, embarrassed at your incredibly indiscreet attempt to gauge him. You come to a rolling stop in traffic as you turn slightly in the car seat. 

His eyes are still trained on the road in front, an obvious attempt to avoid eye contact as there’s not much to look at other than the numerous lanes of standstill traffic. He extends his hand across the console and turns the heat up, hot air blowing your hair back.

“Well I-” You exhale sharply. Your brain feels foggy and jumbled as you try to the find the words to not make it seem like you’re insane for listening in to his conversation. You click your knuckles to try and centre yourself, a calming habit you’d had since childhood - unsurprisingly abhorrent to your grandmother. 

You take a deep breath. “Well you haven’t said two words to me since we left the gym.” Not since Agent McCall came to see you. Plus, your jaw’s been tensing for about 20 minutes, you’ve been picking at your lips and you’re refusing to make eye contact.” You rush out, in a single breath, your voice an octave higher than usual. His eyes narrow, but he still won’t look at you, his arms moving from the steering wheel to the wing mirror, pretending to adjust it. He sniffs nonchalantly. “The real question is, what are you not telling me?” You continue. 

You feel genuinely worked up now, realising that you’re giving him an out and if he doesn’t take it now, he’d be withholding key information about your case. You prod his bicep with your finger. “I’m talking to you.” You remark. 

His jaw ticks. He finally puts the car in park, conceding to the idea that you’re going to be in traffic for a long while, and there’s nowhere and no way to escape. He still refuses to look at you, pretend squinting at the road ahead as he lets out a short laugh and you feel a strange pinch of guilt in your chest. 

That’s not fair. It was his name on the new note, and you’d heard what he’d said back in the gym. He was worried about you. Not himself. You. “I thought I was supposed to be the profiler.” He finally mutters with a dry laugh.

He puts the car in drive as a green light shows, the car dead silent the rest of the way and through the parking lot as he pulls up. You don’t want to push it-

_No. You deserve to hear it from him._

You bite the inside of your cheek again, the tension inside the car making it hard to breathe. “Hotch. Hey.” Your voice is soft. You duck your head to try and seek out his eyes. “Hey, c’mon, Hotch. Look at me. What is it?” You ask earnestly. 

He shrugs it off. “It’s nothing.” He finally turns his head to glance at you, but you refuse to take your eyes off his. You stay like that a moment, fighting for him to just tell you. 

He finally takes a deep breath and diverts his eyes. He swallows thickly before he clears his throat. “I-“ he shakes his head. “It’s nothing, really. I just don’t want you to panic.” You nod for him to continue. “McCall told me another note came today. But it was addressed to me.” He gauges your expression before he continues. “But it’s okay, I promise. He said they got a shot of him in the mailroom, McCall’s on his way to HQ now.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“It means that he’s getting sloppy, and he’s making mistakes. It means we’re close.” He explains. 

“But what does that mean for you?” You whisper. 

“It means that the plan is working. He’s getting jealous, thinks I’m gonna take you away, and the more riled up he gets, the more likely it is he’ll make a mistake.” He reassures you, his eyes burning into yours. 

“Take me away?” You chuckle.

“He thinks we’re a uh-” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, averting his gaze. You notice he does that when he’s flustered, small smile tugging at his lips, his dimples peeking through his beard. “-Well, he thinks we’re together.” His voice drops an octave. He clears his throat as he continues. “The whole point of me being assigned to you was that it would be believable, that we would be able to pass as a couple.” He stutters over his words a little, and you can’t help but return his small grin. It’s endearing. 

His own heart sinks a little at that thought, guilt creeping in. He can’t help but reach out and grab your hand, to make sure you know he’ll do everything in his power to get this guy. Wants to somehow, some way put a smile on your face, hear your laugh, take all your worries away. Hates it when your eyes well up and you swallow your tears. Hates even more, the fact that he feels like this, feels like he needs to control what he says and does around you, knowing that the thoughts he has are dangerously close to becoming the words he truly wants to say, right on the tip of his tongue. All while his high-school sweetheart probably sits at home wondering if he’ll even make it home, worried sick about his safety, hoping that he’s okay. Hates that he’s even conflicted, that it’s even a thought in his mind. 

Yet his hand still finds yours, large and rough, his thumb rubbing gently over your knuckles, anything to be close to you. He continues, “But look, don’t worry about anything else other than narrowing down a list of suspects for us and we’ll take care of the rest, okay? I got you.”

 _Yeah._ He does, he thinks.

 _Yeah._ He does, you think.

You know It’s to catch this person, this monster, hellbent on ruining your life and you don’t doubt that Hotch would do everything in his power to make sure you were okay. You were his assignment. You know he’s ambitious. You know he wants to rise through the ranks. You know it’s his job but you can’t help but think, anyway. And your heart stupidly sinks every time. 

What kind of couple do you two make when the guy gets to go home to his girlfriend every night and you’re left thinking about what could’ve been?

\------


	5. Melancholy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch tries his best to balance his personal and professional life. Reader allows him to confide in her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of firearms, more tension. Mentions of Haley.

_"I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel alone.”_ \- **Daniel Keyes**

——

“Aaron would you just listen to me?!” The frustration seeps out of her pores, her hands running through her blonde hair. 

They’ve been going around in circles for months now, ever since he took on your case, the irregular hours and time away taking its toll. It seems like a never ending cycle, she argues, he goes to work anyway, brings her back some flowers or gifts, they make up. Rinse and repeat. And she’s at the end of her tether. 

He holds his hands up in defeat, setting his phone against the kitchen counter. “Haley! What would you have me do? I have a job, this is my career.” He says, almost condescendingly.

She slams the cupboard as her voice goes up a few octaves. “What is that supposed to mean? Don’t do that. Don’t you dare try to make me out to be the bad guy! Don’t you dare, Aaron.” Her eyes narrow and she’s seething, her face red and tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “You asked me to move in with you because you wanted to be with me. You wanted a future with me.” 

“-I do.”

“Don’t interrupt me.” She hisses. “We moved from Seattle to DC so you could chase your dreams. I left my parents, my family, my friends to be with you. Because I believed you when you said you wanted a future with me.” Her tears spill over as she wipes at them frantically. 

“Haley.” 

“No. Aaron. I can’t. I understand you want to follow your dreams, I know this is your job, that this is who you are. But you need to seriously reconsider what’s important to you, because I can’t keep doing this.” Her voice cracks.

The sentence hits him like a freight train as he swallows the lump in his throat. “Keep doing what?” He asks hesitantly. He’s not sure if he even wants to know the answer. She’s all he knows. 

“ _Going to bed alone._ ” She whispers. “I can’t keep living like this, I can’t keep being the only person all in for this relationship.” 

His heart sinks. He crosses the small kitchen to hold her hands in his, a split second taking him back to when he held yours in the car that day. He shakes the thought from his head and seeks out her eyes. He doesn’t really know what to say, can’t quite find the words. 

“I’m sorry.” He says defeatedly. He cups his hand around her cheeks and wipes the tears from her eyes as she leans into his touch, bringing her forehead to his. 

It hurts him to know that she feels like this, but it devastates him even more to know that he can’t promise her he’ll do better. He wants to. More than almost anything, to give her what she wants, but his commitment to his job is almost hardwired into him, his need to uphold his oath. And the strange pull he feels towards you makes him feel like there’s too many parts of him being pulled this way and that, being spread too thin. 

_He feels torn._

She leans into his touch, both of them sharing a quiet moment after their blow up, their eyes closed, a glimmer of hope emerging in her chest. 

But then his phone rings. He can almost see the disappointment rise in Haley’s shoulders as his eyes tear open at the sound, but Haley squeezes her eyes shut even more, knowing the answer. She already knows the outcome. 

She knows who wins in this situation. 

“Just go.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. 

Panic rises in Hotch’s chest, the magnetic pull of his phone and his job tearing him away from his childhood sweetheart. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. Can we talk tonight?” He pleads.

She doesn’t respond, just keeps her eyes shut as he places a chaste kiss against her lips. 

“I’m sorry.” And with that he leaves. 

———-

“Oh, so big bad Hotch’s gonna teach me how to shoot, huh?” You huff out a laugh as you hand him your bag to load into the trunk. 

“Yep.” 

You squint at him, puzzled by his sudden change in demeanour, a knot forming in your stomach. You step into the SUV, securing your seatbelt, your anxiety taking over, suddenly. 

You’ve noticed he’s been tense the past couple of days, but today especially. His eyebrows are pulled into a frown, he seems distant and unfocused and his jaw is set into a hard line, which ordinarily would get you into trouble with yourself, but today, it’s a sign for concern. 

He checks his phone for the fifth time in almost as many minutes, rubbing a hand over his beard, inhaling sharply. His jaw ticks as he rolls open the window before putting the car into drive. 

The car ride is literally and figuratively chilly, the spring air permeating the awkward atmosphere. Hotch doesn’t attempt to make any conversation with you, doesn’t even look at you, his nostrils flared and his mind elsewhere. 

You feel awkward, uncomfortable and there’s a creeping sensation up your neck, a sharp contrast to a couple days ago when he had held your hand in his, reassured you that he’d do whatever he could to catch this guy. Now, the butterflies are an unwelcome sensation. 

You continue on your wordless journey, pulling up to the shooting range. You take a beat and wait for Hotch as he unbuckles his belt and steps out of the car without even so much as acknowledging you. You swallow thickly, feeling an almost misplaced guilt towards his actions. 

_Was it you? Did you do something wrong?_

———

“Okay, you’re gonna start with this one here.” Hotch explains, holding the Glock 42 flat in his palm, weighing it in his hands. “You’re gonna start with the smallest, get used to the trigger and the weight before we can move up.” His voice is monotone, unwavering. No hint of levity. You move up to the shelf, taking the gun from his hands. 

_Damn. What is with this guy today?_

You clear your head.

Okay. Check the magazine, load, safety. 

Done.

Stance, aim, push, pull and squeeze. 

The smoke from the round wafts into your nose as you open your eyes to check the paper target in front of you, completely untouched. 

_Shit._

Hotch pinches his nose, the vein in his temple throbbing. “No, c’mon! How many times-“ 

He winces and stops abruptly. Stops before he says something he doesn’t mean, before he does something he knows he’ll regret. This isn’t him. And it isn’t your fault. He knows this, but he can’t help but feel that the misplaced frustration he has towards you is because of his guilty conscience, it’s compensation for the way he feels so torn. Still he pushes it down further. 

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I-. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ 

You just follow his movements, watch him collect himself. He takes a breath and huffs out a dry laugh. “Alright. C’mere.” 

You shoot him a puzzled look, the swift change in his mood taking you aback. Part of you wants to rip him a new one for treating you like this, but it wouldn’t do any good. Strange attraction aside, he was fast becoming your friend, one of the only people you could rely on, and knowing he wasn’t in the right headspace but not having the answer for him was frustrating. 

He chuckles. “Come on. Come here.” He beckons you toward him. You plant yourself in front of him, as he moves in close, his body solid behind you. He grips your wrists from behind as your hands wrap around the glock, taking stance, his breath on your neck. 

His voice is low in your ear. “Remember to follow through, okay?” You don’t dare turn your head, he’s so close. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye to find him watching you, his eyes flirting to your lips for a brief second and you feel that familiar heat creep up your neck. 

He moves back only slightly, giving him enough room to grip your hips, positioning your right foot back, angling your body at a slight diagonal. His hands are solid on your body, moving you with ease. You try your best to concentrate on the target in front of you and to hold the glock level, but Hotch’s presence so close is less than ideal when you need to focus. 

He positions your arms once again, touch feather light this time, brushing your shoulders as he does. He nods for you to try again. 

You keep your eyes on the target this time, trained on the marker body in front of you after you shoot and you can’t quite believe you hit it. You squeal with excitement and turn to face Hotch who looks proud but drops down quickly, seeing the Glock still in your hands. 

“Yeah, lesson number 2. Never-“ He nods at you to punctuate his point, taking the gun from you. “-Never. Point a gun at someone without aiming.” 

———

It’s dark when Hotch pulls up outside your building, the mood decidedly lighter than before but the unspoken heaviness still lingers in the air, carries all the way up to your apartment. You key the door open, switching on a lamp on your way in, Hotch making quick work of a window sweep.

“Two MPD officers are posted right outside, and there are two unmarked cars outside, too. Just in case.” 

You nod as you walk into your kitchen, a sudden surge of bravery taking over. “Hey, Hotch?” 

He doesn’t look up from his phone when he answers. “Yeah?” 

“Hotch.”

He looks up this time, sheepish expression on his face when he realises you’re staring at his phone, too, cursing himself for not minding his manners. 

“Sorry. What is it?” 

“Are you okay?” You ask, earnestly. 

He pretends to be oblivious, as you walk out of your kitchen and plant yourself on your couch, water in hand. He sits on the ottoman you use as a footrest opposite your couch, but says nothing. Just watches you, but you wait for him. 

He runs his hands through his hair. It’s endearing, you think. 

“That obvious?” He says with a dry chuckle. 

You wait for him to go on. 

“I know I’ve been ‘off’ the last couple of days. I’m sorry. It’s just- I don’t know. Stuff in my personal life, I guess - I let it affect my job. Won’t happen again.” 

“That’s not what I mean. Screw the job. I mean are _you_ actually okay?” You feel a strange pull in your chest, the vulnerability is written on his face. But you don’t want to push him. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“It’s- just this job, y’know. My girlfriend-“

“-Haley.” You’re thinking out loud but he looks surprised as to how you could know her name. “I think I heard you talking to her a couple times.” You shake it off. 

“Yeah. Well. She’s struggling to cope with all of this, I guess. The job. It’s not like it’s a regular 9-5, and I don’t suppose it’s much fun going to sleep in an empty house most nights.” 

_I go to bed alone._

_She goes to bed alone._

He curses himself for his lack of tact. “I mean I know where she’s coming from, I wish I could be around more but it’s hard trying to get the right balance y’know? And I don’t know, I have the feeling she might not want to stick around much longer - and I wouldn’t blame her.” 

He whispers the last part, like he doesn’t trust his voice to betray him. He’s surprised he’s even opened up to you this much, this quickly and he realises his mouth has already betrayed him before his brain had even had a chance to catch up. He feels lighter though, maybe even optimistic. 

But you feel your heart sinking. The naive little girl in you had thought maybe Hotch could have felt attracted to you, maybe even had some feelings for you. The realisation that he has a foundation, a home, a long-term relationship - even if it was on the rocks - makes your chest heavy. Makes it hard to breathe.

You don’t want to give him advice. Don’t even want to really think about him and Haley at all. But the sadness in his eyes and the worry in his voice speaks louder than the little voice in your head. 

“You love her?”

He takes a beat, but nods.

“Then you know what you have to do, Hotch. Give her what she wants. Give her what she needs to stay.” You feel a misplaced, profound kind of sadness deep within you, and you can’t tell whether it’s because you feel utterly alone and like nobody would ever want to fight for you - or whether it’s because you know that person wouldn’t be the man sitting in front of you. 

Still, you inhale deeply and stand. “Well, listen - I don’t wanna keep you.” You walk him to your door. “I hope it all works out.” You tell him as you watch him leave. And you only half mean it. 

———

“Haley?” Hotch shouts through the door. He shrugs off his blazer and loosens his tie as he turns on the lights in their dark home, blinking as his eyes adjust. There’s no answer. 

“Haley?” 

Nothing.

He searches the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, a sinking feeling taking over. Still, he calls out her name, to no avail. He turns on the light in their bedroom, the wardrobes open and hangers laying on a neat pile in the corner. He sighs defeatedly. 

His eyes fall to a piece of folded yellow paper on the centre of their perfectly made bed. He picks it up and lets his body fall onto the mattress, unfolding the note.

Haley’s elegant, slanted writing reads: 

‘I’m sorry too. - HB’ 

\------


	6. Reverberate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch does something rash to quiet his conscience. Reader feels neglected and cuts Hotch loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut!! WHOLE lot of angst, mutual pining.

“ _My God, a moment of bliss. Why, isn’t that enough for a whole lifetime?”_ \- **Fyodor Dostoevsky**

———

The electronic voice fills the small kitchen. “You have no new messages.”

It’s been two weeks of the same routine for him. He wakes up alone, gets Haley’s answering machine, eats breakfast alone and goes to HQ. Comes back home, checks his messages again, eats dinner and sleeps. There’s a small sharp stab of realisation, a split second of questioning every morning, where he wonders if it’s even worth it to keep trying to win her back - if he truly loves Haley or if he’s a creature of habit. 

If maybe they’d both be better off without one another. 

He swallows that thought quickly, pushing it as far down the abyss as he can, not ready for those thoughts to see the light of day quite yet. He settles for the former, concluding that maybe he’s both, she’s comfortable, she’s familiar - his first love. 

But what about-

_No._

It’s a beautiful kind of irony, really, he thinks. That Haley would chastise him for working late, for not coming home some nights, for being absent-minded, but in the 2 weeks she’s been gone, it’s the most he’s worked a regular job. Been home by 6pm, with all the free time he can spare. 

If only she could see me now, he thinks. 

He laughs wryly at the sense of humour the universe supposedly has, his desire for working in the field suddenly subsiding when she left. 

Maybe it was the guilt. 

He hasn’t seen you in those two weeks, either. Not since the night in your apartment when you’d told him to give Haley whatever she wanted, a pensive look on your face as you’d bid him goodbye. He’d been screening your calls, avoiding you for some reason. 

Misplaced guilt again. 

He’d finally called you back on the third day - lamenting the fact that Agent Barnes had assigned him to HQ to work the profile and that McCall would be your detail. 

_He’d lied._

Barnes had done no such thing, and Hotch had cursed himself again for lying unnecessarily, an impulse he seemingly had no control over. His mouth was speaking before his brain could catch up yet again, unable to filter out the lies he knew was telling. He had no reason to lie - not really. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to face you, to be around you when Haley wasn’t around, and his stomach churns at the possibility of why. 

Yet another thought he vows to push down into the abyss. 

Truth is, he’d thought about you almost as much as he’d thought about Haley the past two weeks, missed your ironic jabs, the smell of your hair, the way you laughed. Truth is, it was himself he didn’t quite trust to be around you, and he didn’t quite know why. 

_He realises then - he misses you. More than he should._

The front door opening brings him out of his stupor, his ears twitching. He grabs the gun out of his holster and checks the time. 

7pm. 

He slowly crosses the kitchen, walking into the passageway and sees the front door wide open, rain pelting outside in the dark.

“Hello?” He calls out, his gun trained in front of him. He calls out again to no answer. He cracks open the doorknob into the living room to do a quick sweep, checking behind the door, the windows - clearing the room when he hears shuffling in the passage again. He re-opens the door that connects the living room and passage swiftly, training his gun on the front door as he hears a shriek. 

He stops in shock, dropping his gun back to his side. 

A pair of blue eyes look at him, two bags in hand, hair wet from the rain. 

_“Haley?”_

———

“Hey, it’s me, Em.” You can hear her eye roll through the phone. “I’m trying you for the fourth- no- fifth time, today. I know you’re there. Call me. Bye!” You chew the inside of your cheek as you listen to her voicemail, feeling guiltier by the minute that you were avoiding her. 

You hadn’t seen her since before all of this started, her mom being posted in Rome for the holidays hadn’t exactly helped on the communication front. Now, she was back in town, and although you loved her dearly, the prospect of having to go meet her with a FBI security detail in tow, to have to explain and relive this entire thing fills you with dread. Not to mention, you haven’t really had the energy or the overwhelming desire to talk to anybody for the last two weeks. 

Where do you even start? 

You play with your necklace absent-mindedly, the cool gold comfortable under your fingers as you run the pendant along the chain. 

The telephone rings again, and you press the screen button, thinking it’s Emily.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s Dad. Pick up.” 

You fumble with the phone, clicking the button. You take a deep sigh. “Hey, Dad.” 

“Sweetheart! How are you? It’s so good to hear your voice.” He sounds full of worry and you suddenly feel guilty for screening all of your calls. 

“I’m good, Dad - sorry I haven’t called you back, I guess I don’t feel too good.” You lie, chewing your lip.

He immediately starts to worry, asking you if something happened, if you need a doctor. Offers to have his aide pick you up and bring you to him. 

You smile. “No, no, Dad, it’s nothing like that. I’ve just been busy with work, I guess I’m a little tired is all.” 

“And there haven’t been any more incidents?” He asks. 

“Actually, no. I’m going into Quantico tomorrow morning to speak with Agent Barnes, but I- I don’t know, maybe he’s gone? I don’t know, I feel a little better about this now.” Hope flutters in your chest at the prospect of maybe, finally being able to live your life again, free from the shadow of your tormentor.

“That’s great, sweetheart!” You can hear his smile. “Do you need me to come with you?” 

You tell him no, and bid him a quick goodbye, promising him that you’ll come by for dinner later this week, maybe even to celebrate. 

“That’s great, honey, I’d love that. Oh! Before I let you go - Elizabeth and Emmy are back in town and I know Emmy would love to see you.” He poses it as a question, knowing in his voice that you’d been avoiding her. 

You pause. 

“Give her a call won’t you? Please.” 

“I will, Dad. I gotta go.” 

The receiver clicks as you set it down. You think back to the phone call you’d shared with Hotch two weeks ago, the way he’d ended the call so abruptly, so coldly, almost felt like a farce to you. You couldn’t put your finger on it exactly, figured things didn’t go well with Haley and he’d be back in a couple of days. 

Then a week passed. 

And then another one. 

And you were still getting interviewed by Agent McCall, drawing up lists of people you’d spoken to in the last year, trying your best to just get on with things, hoping that McCall would tell you Hotch would relieve him soon. Hoping the phone would ring or that he’d walk in the door until you realise - the man was trying to do right by his girlfriend, if anything, you didn’t possess his mind at all. 

You sleep that night preoccupied with the thought of Hotch, realising that in all your naivety and miserable, false hope _\- you missed him._

———

He watches you through the mirror, your eyes flutter closed at his touch, his breath on your skin as he places hot wet kisses on the juncture between your shoulder and neck. His left hand comes up from behind you, running over your ribs and palming at your chest, thumb tracing your nipple. He continues to thrust into you, nerve endings on fire, finding himself intoxicated at the sight of you gripping him so tight.

You turn your head slightly to your left, your foreheads now touching, breaths mingling, your face blissed out. “Kiss me, Aaron.” You gasp. 

Your lips clash in a mess of teeth and tongues, no real rhyme or rhythm to the kiss as he swallows your whimpers. You moan against his lips as he continues his assault, his hair falling on your face. 

He feels himself right on the precipice, body ablaze, throbbing with you surrounding him, invading his senses. He’s close. 

“Aaron. Aaron, I’m gonna-”

“Aaron? Aaron!!” His body twitches as he wakes with a start, a freezing hand against his chest, shaking him to consciousness. He blinks his eyes open, immediately sitting up trying to bridge the gap between his dream and what was in front of him. Haley shoots him a confused look, watching him as she sets down a cup of coffee on the bedside table. 

He grabs a pillow and quickly places it over his lap to cover the evidence from his dream as Haley takes a seat next to his legs, a hand reaching out to rub his shin over the covers. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, you were just moaning in your sleep - I thought maybe you were having a nightmare.” She laughs. 

“No, no. Not a nightmare.” He says absent-mindedly.

His body is still thrumming, heart pounding and he hopes like hell that Haley doesn’t realise what he was dreaming about. He can feel the flush in his face, unable to tear away the image of you in his mind. He thinks then about the irony of the situation - yet again. His estranged girlfriend returned home just last night and this morning he finds himself dreaming of you. 

The guilt settles deep into his stomach, clawing at his insides, heat prickling on the back of his neck. What kind of a man was he, to not even be able to commit to his high-school sweetheart. The woman who’d seen him through school, college, seen him through his career so far. 

There’s another thought that gnaws at him, that begs him to look inward and ask himself why of all days, he dreamed of you today - or at all. What it means for him. But he resolves to table that, pushes it further down than he can stomach and he knows it’s bound to bubble back up eventually. But still, he denies himself the answer that’s right of him. 

He stares at Haley for a moment, reaches out his hands to grab hers and pulls her onto him. She falls onto him with a giggle, as he manoeuvres her under him, their lips pressing together for a chaste kiss. 

“Okay, definitely not a nightmare.” She giggles. 

He tries his best to pour all his commitment and affection for Haley into that morning, concluding in his mind then, that this is what he wants, that this is who he needs to be with. The rest of it could be a passing infatuation - but Haley is familiar. She’s comfortable. She’s what he knows. And isn’t that what love is? 

_This is where he belongs._

——-

You try your best to quell the butterflies that flutter in your stomach, willing them to calm and let you collect yourself. With Hotch confined to his so called assignment to HQ, this would be the first time you’ve seen him for weeks. Your nagging conscience eats at you, asks you why you decided to put in that extra effort to get ready today, why you decided to wear that particular perfume. 

Stop.

You bite the inside of your cheeks again, yet another unsavoury habit you’d picked up as a child, as you mindlessly watch the cars go past the SUV on the freeway. A black sedan keeps a constant speed in the lane next to you, windows tinted almost to black, as you eye it from your peripheral. It slows down quickly, allowing it to move behind you as Agent McCall adjusts the mirror to get a better look. 

It moves to the left, this time, speeding up and cutting Agent McCall off harshly, slowing down and speeding up, brake lights flashing. You look up at Agent McCall, paranoia settling into your bones. He shoots you a reassuring glance as he reaches for his phone, rattling off a partial plate to the other side before the sedan takes off. 

It’s probably not that, you think. 

Probably just some idiot with a new car. 

_You should’ve known better._

As you pull into the parking lot into Agent McCall’s assigned parking space, you look around almost instinctively, scanning the place for Agent Hotchner’s car. Your eyes take stock of the rows and rows of cars before you can even really reconcile with yourself why you’re looking for it. 

You do the same as you enter the bullpen with McCall, trying your best to keep up with him in the bustle of agents carrying their paperwork, telephones ringing and the click clacking of their keyboards. You feel out of your body, an almost deja-vu like sensation, like you’ve been here before. You hold on tight to the lapel of your coat, readjusting your visitor badge to ground yourself as you continue to discreetly scan the bullpen for the familiar head of long floppy hair, the tense shoulders and dark eyes. 

_Nothing._

You walk past a desk on your way towards the steps at the head of the bullpen, black letters burnt into a bronze name plate read ‘SA Aaron Hotchner’. Your heart skips a beat with excitement as you take a quick scan but then you realise. No coat, no briefcase on the desk. The overhead lamp is turned off, the desk is made, untouched. The computer screen black. Surely, Agent Barnes must have told him you were coming in today, you think. So where was he? 

You attempt to refocus yourself as Agent Barnes exits his office to lead you and McCall into a room at the end of the corridor, past the offices. He greets you with a small side hug, asks about your father as he makes the introductions. Four other agents sit around the round table, each of them introduce themselves with a firm handshake. 

_Official._

But still no Hotch. 

A TV hangs on the wall, evidence boards erected on either side. Your driver’s license picture sits on the right hand side and you cringe at the older picture of yourself - it seems like a lifetime ago. The text above your photo reads, ‘Victim’. You swallow thickly, your skin crawling at the realisation that no matter which way you try to spin it, you were already his victim. He didn’t have to do anything else. 

Agent McCall follows your line of sight to the evidence boards and shoots a glare at one of the agents who immediately steps up and turns it over. 

“No, no. It’s okay. Leave it, please.” The agent glances between McCall and Barnes as if to ask permission to turn it back around. “I’m telling you, it’s okay. Really.” You tell him, firmly. 

You take a seat at the table, and go back through a possible list of suspects, people you’ve been with, spoken to, worked with for the last year, but none of them seem to be a good fit. That’s kind of the point though, right - that you never see it coming? 

“Well, we’re closer now than before, with a list of people, we can run priors and backgrounds on them to see if any match the profile.” Barnes explains. 

“Well, what is the profile?” You ask, curiosity piqued. You’ve come to realise you have a sort of penchant for the behavioural arts, even resorting to very basic profiling of those around you, and it was a gift and a curse. 

Barnes steels for a moment, weighing his options, not wanting to scare you. You stare back at him and place your hands on the table, eyebrows raised, waiting for him to go on. 

“Well, we believe he’s a white man, between the ages of 20-30, suffering from something called erotomania. This is when-“

“-You have delusions that somebody is madly in love with you, right?”

He looks happily surprised - proud, almost. “Exactly. We believe he’s somebody you’ve met before, this kind of obsession is too intense for it to be somebody you had just a chance encounter with. That can happen, of course, but it’s exceedingly rare.”

McCall pipes up. “He’s showing psychopathic tendencies and he’s getting angry. Angry that you won’t notice him - that you’ve somehow rejected him.” Your eyebrows twitch. “Remember the blood spatters on the note? The way he crossed out the pictures of you?” 

You nod as everyone falls into silence. 

“And his endgame?” 

Barnes’ lips press into a thin line, as he focuses on the table in front of him. He inhales and stops himself several times, as though he’s trying to find the right words. “He’s not going to go quietly. This level of obsession and anger can quickly turn violent. I know you mentioned there haven’t been any more interactions, anymore notes, but we will be erring on the extreme side of caution for now.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

He takes a long pause. “There’s a strong chance that he’ll go out shooting. He’ll hurt himself and y-” He clears his throat. “Himself and you.” He says, looking at you. 

You swallow thickly. 

“But - we plan on catching this son of a bitch before that can happen. And we will catch him. We won’t let it get to that.” He clears his throat as you all stand.

“Yeah.”

“Look, the profile is sound.” He says, reassuring you. “We wouldn’t have been able to develop it this fast if it hadn’t been for Agent Hotchner volunteering to work it these past couple of weeks so-”

You pause.

“-He volunteered?” You ask, your eyes darting off the table, voice high. 

“I- yes, he did.” He looks at you puzzled, as he leans to look past your body through the window and into the bullpen behind you. He huffs a laugh. “Actually, uh, speak of the devil.” He nods behind you. 

Blood rushes to your ears as you turn around, Hotch shrugging off his coat and running a hand through his hair as he runs up the stairs. You shoot an accusatory look back towards McCall who ducks his head in shame, fidgeting with his tie, caught out in their lie.

You’re somewhere between fury and betrayal, hurt and embarrassed.

It’s a slap in the face.

_He’s been avoiding you?_

Hotch’s eyes catch yours through the window, his earlier resolve crumbling almost instantaneously, as he takes you in from bottom to top. His heart jumps as he remembers his dream from this morning, blood rushing. His smile drops quickly though when he sees your expression - and his own eyes do nothing to hide his guilt as he enters the roundtable room, glancing at McCall as they share a guilty look, and then he trains his eyes on Barnes. You keep your eyes focused forward, not trusting yourself to look at him, tears pricking your eyes. Your heart is pounding, and you feel so furious, so sick and embarrassed, like he’d just tossed you aside. 

_Calm down, he doesn’t owe you anything._

_Still._

You feel him come up next to you, but you keep your eyes focused forward, willing them to keep your attention straight. 

“Hotchner. Come in. I was just tell-”

“Telling us how this profile wouldn’t have been possible without you _volunteering_ for the last two weeks.” You interrupt, placing an emphasis on the word ‘volunteering’. A sudden surge of fury and boldness overcomes you, a tight smile on your face that threatens to snap as you look up at him. 

His face is almost pitiable, he blinks rapidly, his gaze quickly diverting from yours as he tilts his head downwards, his hand scratching the back of his neck. 

Barnes looks between Hotch, McCall and you, eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out the situation, the room suddenly feeling heavy. You take a deep breath and go to shake Barnes’ hand, voice higher than it needs to be.

“Well, I really should be going, now. I have to get back to work, thank you so much for your help, Agent.” Your smile is almost a grimace now, your farce slipping. 

He simply shakes your hand slowly, confused at the energy shift, and bids you a quick goodbye, his face still contorted in confusion. McCall goes to follow you as you leave, but you turn back on your heel quickly.

“Oh that’s not necessary, _Agent_. I’m sure you have some things to finish up here. I can take a cab.” Your words are laced with anger, sarcasm dripping with every intonation. He stops in his tracks, mouth opening and closing, a hand smoothing over his tie. He doesn’t know what to say or do.

You don’t wait for a response, instead turn around to walk out of the doors and down the steps as Barnes wordlessly tells Hotch to go after you. You walk faster than your legs can carry you, refusing to let up until you’re safely in the elevator. You hear footsteps behind you, getting closer and closer, and you hate that you even know what his tread sounds like. 

He calls out your name twice, the people in the bullpen staring as you walk through the plate glass doors and towards the foyer. Your ears burn with embarrassment, you know you’re probably causing a scene, but your anger and hurt outweighs any rational thought you have right now. 

You step into the elevator and press the G for ground floor, as Hotch speeds through the doors, calling your name again. You will the doors to shut faster, he closes the distance between you, and they’re almost there until his hand reaches between the metal, the doors opening again. 

You heave a sigh as he stands next to you, but you daren’t look at anything other than your distorted reflection in the metal of the elevator doors as they close once again. The air feels impossibly heavy, both of you knowing now, that he’d been lying and avoiding you for the last two weeks. It feels like it’s hard to breathe as the elevator descends.

“Can you please just let me explain?” He pleads, searching out your eyes. Your jaw sets into a hard line, and you swallow thickly, your resolve dangerously close to crumbling. “Please? Just talk to me? Scream if you want to scream, yell at me, just say something. Please.” 

You say nothing, try your damndest to pretend he’s not there. He slams the emergency stop button, a gasp escaping you as the elevator jolts to a stop. 

“What - the hell are you doing?” You hiss as you press the button again to release the elevator. 

He presses it again, this time covering the button pad with his hand as he stares at you. You stare back this time, your chest heaving. You try to move his hand off the pad, but he’s stuck to the cold metal, refusing and unrelenting. 

“Just please - talk to me.”

You can’t do it anymore. “Fine. You wanna talk. Let’s talk. _Barnes_? Barnes assigned you to work the profile? Was I that much of a burden that you not only had to avoid me, but you had to lie about why you couldn’t work my detail?” Are you kidding me, Hotch?”

“No- that’s not what it was. I swear -”

“Don’t you dare. If that’s not what it was, then what the hell was it? I don’t see you for two weeks, I call you and you tell me that you’ve been assigned to desk duty! And don’t think I didn’t see the look McCall had on his face, you told him to lie to me too?” 

He stutters over his words. “It wasn’t that- it just. Haley.”

“Don’t blame this on Haley. She’s not responsible for your actions. You are. You _chose_ to lie to me. You chose to _avoid_ me. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that is, how disgusting it makes me feel? Like I’m just some stupid _plaything_ for you people!” Your volume rises steadily now, you’re incapable of controlling the rise and fall. 

“That’s not what it was! I didn’t trust-”

“Trust what?” You snap. 

Trust myself. 

“That’s what I thought.” Your voice cracks as you move his hand out of the way and slam the button to release the elevator again, as he stands in front of you, unable to move, his body feeling like stone. 

_Plaything?_

Your words reverberate in his ears. If anything, it was the opposite. He wanted to protect you, to keep you safe. To treat with all the delicateness and care you deserved, cursing himself for doing the one thing he didn’t want to do. He didn’t want to break you because he couldn’t face how he felt, because he didn’t want to _face_ how he felt.

The door dings and opens, the main foyer bustling in front of you. You rip off your visitor badge and throw it into his hand as you go to march out of the elevator, Hotch clutching your visitor badge. The guilt settles like concrete in his stomach, penetrating nerve-deep. 

“You don’t want to work my detail? Consider yourself relieved from duty.” 

\------


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader reaches out to a friend after Hotch's betrayal, but comes into major danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panic attacks, mentions of violence. Hurt and comfort. Emily Prentiss' cameo!

_"Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition.”_ \- **James Baldwin**

———

You’ve been operating on autopilot since that day. For around a week and a half now, you work from home, run your errands, come home and find yourself staring into nothing, sitting in your apartment alone. You’ve been dodging calls from Hotch, your dad, Emily and now your ex, too, since he’d been back in town. 

You’d stormed out of the building that day on wobbly legs, willing yourself not to buckle or fall on the floor, your breath shaky and shallow. You’d somehow managed to keep your composure in the cab home, staring out of the window, your brain feeling like static, incomprehensible, confusing and far too busy. 

You were surprised though, at your outward composure, surprised that you hadn’t even felt the need to cry, not even so much as a lump in your throat anymore. The adrenaline had seemed to be wearing off on the journey home, you’d even give a weary smile to the cab driver as you got out of the car. But you’d been so preoccupied with your thoughts that you hadn’t noticed the same black sedan from earlier that day, tailing your cab again. 

Once you’d finally keyed your door closed, though - you’d sunk to the cold tile of your apartment floor and let the shame and embarrassment of your naivety wash over you, cursing yourself repeatedly, sick with rage. Not rage towards Hotch, or McCall. Rage towards yourself. Furious that you’d even let yourself entertain any sort of delusion about Hotch, that you’d even allowed a flutter of hope to bloom in your chest. 

Mortified that he’d been actively avoiding you while you’d been waiting for the phone to ring, like some desperate, naive little girl. 

You’d cried then, which had only infuriated you more. What did you have to cry about? He didn’t owe you anything. He had a job, and he was doing it well, considering he’d been the one to draw up the profile. He had a whole life, a past with Haley, and most likely, a future with her, too. 

You’d heard a knock on the door behind you that had startled you in the midst of the tears streaming down your cheeks. You’d heard Hotch’s voice call your name from behind the door and you’d had to fight to not gasp or cry even more as he’d called out to you.

“Please. Just let me in. Please just let me explain myself.” He’d pleaded. He didn’t quite understand what he would say even if you did open the door, but the desperation he felt to see you, to just say something that wasn’t met with anger by you, far outweighed any rational thought he could muster right now. 

You’d clasped both hands over your mouth and brought your knees to your chest to stop any sound from escaping, willing yourself to hold your ground just this once. To pull back some respect for yourself, to try and grasp at anything that would let you feel like you were on even footing again. 

“Please? I can hear you in there, you can yell at me, hit me, scream at me, just please let me say what I need to say to you!” You’d just held your breath and focused on the rise and fall of your chest to keep yourself grounded, your eyes closed.

_No._

You’d heard some shuffling and muffled voices through the door, Agent McCall’s voice familiar to you at this point. You’d listened hard as you’d heard him tell Hotch to leave. 

“Ben-”

“Now.” His voice was stern. “Go talk to Barnes. I’ll handle things here.” 

He’d hesitated for a moment against the door before he’d finally left, his body weighed down with the immense guilt, his stomach like concrete. 

This wasn’t going to go away.

Once you were sure he’d left, you’d gathered yourself up off the floor and splashed some water on your face, willing the puffiness in your cheeks and eyes to subside. In your vulnerability, you’d felt intensely alone and mistakenly picked up the phone, needing a friend to confide in.

“Hello?”

“Jordan?” 

“Yeah? Who’s this?” 

“It’s me.” You could hear the gears turning in his head. You’d said your name through the phone and he chuckled. 

“Hey. I wasn’t expecting your call. How’ve you been?”

“Can you come over?” You’d said abruptly. 

He paused. There was no answer for a while and you’d had to look at the phone, to double-check it hadn’t been disconnected. 

“Hello?” 

“I- yeah. I’m on my way. See you soon, _babe_.” You’d shuddered slightly at his pet name for you, you never had liked it when you were together and it had felt even stranger now. But you needed someone to help you through this, and he was nothing if not familiar, even if you hadn’t worked out the first time. 

Unbeknownst to you, though. Hotch had stayed parked across the road and had seen Jordan enter your apartment building around thirty minutes later. He’d frowned and leaned across the console to watch the figure walk into the lobby right as he’d seen your apartment lights turn on. He’d turned his attention to your apartment window then, as you’d drawn your curtains, the sight of you making his breath catch. He’d gripped the steering wheel tight as he’d maneuvered himself to desperately get a better view of you, only to see Jordan behind you as you’d pulled the fabric closed, his heart dropping and a lump forming in his throat. 

_He’d never even had you, but he’d lost you._

———

You give yourself a once over in the mirror again , dusting off some lint that isn’t really there off of your dress, turning to make sure that it fits right. Taking a couple of deep breaths, you step out of your bedroom.

“Ready, ma’am?” Agent McCall asks. 

You simply nod and grab your purse as Agent McCall leads the way out of the door, confirming the address of the bistro over his earpiece. You have a strange knot in your stomach, the kind that develops when you have to see an old friend who you’ve lost touch with. The kind that develops when you have a psycho stalker and you’re estranged and furious at the one person who’d slowly become your comfort.

You’d decided that you had to try to make an attempt, a real effort to keep the small number of friends you did have, finally taking Emily’s calls and even proposing lunch. She’d responded excited, and had taken care of the reservations for you, said it’d be her treat. 

You glance up towards agent McCall, a question bubbling up in your chest, but you lose your nerve at the last minute. He spots you from the corner of his eye but doesn’t attempt to respond or invite further questions, simply setting the SUV into drive and taking off. You bite the inside of your cheek, repeatedly looking at your watch, your index finger scratching divots into the side of your thumb. As you pull up to the restaurant, you spot two undercovers on either side of the block. MPD, you deduce. 

Agent McCall opens your door for you, confirming something on his earpiece as he escorts you out. “I’ll be waiting right here, Agent Hotchner will be here soon to relieve me, so he’ll be escorting you back, ma’am.” He rattles it off like a rehearsed speech, but there’s a hint of levity in his voice. 

Your head whips towards his direction. “Hotchner? No, he’s not on my detail anymore.” You quip back, the panic and excitement making for a strange cocktail. 

“As of this morning, he is.” He ducks his head. “I’m sorry, I know what happened and I completely respect that, but the Ambassador made the decision and Barnes agrees. I’m sorry ma’am.” 

Your chest flutters slightly at that, futile excitement, dread and anxiety spreading to your bones at the thought of seeing Hotch for the first time in so long. You huff and take his hand. 

“We’re not done with this.” You mutter to him.

You turn to find Emily’s dark eyes watching you from the outdoor seating area of the restaurant as you cross the road, squinting slightly as if to see if it’s really you. When you laugh, she immediately sets her napkin down on the table, and shouts your name, her arms outstretched almost immediately, her face breaking out into a grin.

_Oh Emily._

You close the gap between you, taking quick little steps in an awkward kind of run, as you meet her hug, her body almost crushing you. Air leaves your chest in a whoosh as you both laugh, rocking slightly to catch your balance. She rubs your arms up and down when she finally releases you, leading the way to your table. “Oh! It’s _so_ good to see you!” She breathes.

You immediately relax, the dread and nervousness washing away. No matter how long it goes between visits with Emily, you could probably always count on the fact that you’d pick up right where you left off. You felt almost silly now for even thinking it’d be any different. The stress of the past month melts away and you finally feel at ease for the first time in a long time. 

“It’s good to see you too!” You laugh, sitting back. You chance a quick glance over the SUV, but you give yourself away. Emily follows your eyes and spots Agent McCall parked on the other side of the road, watching you. 

“Hey. What’s with the _goon_ squad?” She points her head to the left to point to McCall, glaringly obvious that he’s there to watch you. “I spotted two UC’s a block away too.” She questions. 

You sigh. It’s not really a question you can avoid, besides, she’s a close friend and confidante. And she’s so sharp, always aware of her surroundings - almost unsettlingly so. But if anybody could relate, it would be her. You briefly explain that somebody had been leaving you notes and gifts for a while which is why- 

“You didn’t go to college this year - that’s right.” She nods, finishing your sentence for you. She winces slightly with sympathy as the pieces fall into place for her. She shakes her head in disbelief. “I- how long?” She asks. Her eyebrows are pulled together, her brown eyes wide and vulnerable. 

“Since last summer. Dad had some old friends with the FBI so they’re my security until we catch him, I guess.” You pick at a hangnail, the reality of the situation making your heart sink more every day. 

“I’m sorry.” She exhales. “First a breakup, then your father’s whole heart scare, and then _this_?”

You look up at her. “How did you know about Dad?”

“Ambassador Prentiss.” She laments, sarcastically.

“Ah.” 

“Mother had her aide get in touch when she didn’t hear back from your father.” Her voice softens as she reaches her hand across the table to stop you from ripping the skin straight off your finger. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I may not have been much help, but I’m always here to listen. You gotta reach out more.” 

A lump forms in your throat as you come to the crushing realisation that you didn’t really have many friends at all, no real friends of substance that you could really confide in, anyway . Sure, you had society friends, acquaintances, the children of other DC officials but your heart sinks. You have nobody except your father and Emily - and your father, well. He wouldn’t be around forever. 

You squeeze her hand back and thank her, retreating back to your lap and scratching your thumb again, toying with the skin. Her eyebrows quirk as she watches you, aware of your nervous tics.

“What is it?”

You snap your head up. “Hm? What? Oh- nothing.”

“Don’t even. I know when you’re lying. What is it?” Her eyebrows raise, the way they do when she challenges someone. She did always have the uncanny ability to see right through people. 

You sigh. “Fine. It’s about the breakup.” She slumps back in her seat and rolls her eyes, her head shaking. 

“You did not. Tell me you didn’t.”

“Don’t kill me. But, around two weeks ago, I kinda slept with Jordan.” You wince.

She inhales sharply through her teeth, shaking her head. “Come on. I thought you knew better! Why would you do that? He’s nothing but trouble.” 

“I. I don’t know, it’s a long story. I haven’t seen him since, though.” You try to justify to her with a laugh, throwing your hands up in defence. “He keeps trying to call, but I just let it go to voicemail. If anything, I remembered why we didn’t work the first time around.” 

“Uh huh.” She raises her eyebrows and huffs out a laugh. “Good. _He gives the creeps._ ” She mutters. 

You let out a laugh then, a real laugh and you can’t remember the last time you felt this light. You think for a split second about how you did feel this light and happy around Hotch despite the impending danger, but you erase the thought from your mind quickly, refusing to allow yourself to go down that road again. 

The mere split second thought makes your chest drop, though - another wave of sadness washing over you just as quickly, and it’s only exacerbated by the fact that you’re going to have to face him soon. Your emotions seemingly do a rapid 180.

You feel grateful to be here with Emily, with someone to talk to, but the hole that you’d tried to fill with Jordan a week ago had only left you feeling more empty and dissatisfied with your life. You’d asked him to go home later that night, unable to look at him, or yourself. All you could think about was how Hotch was probably happy, living in domesticity with his first love and you were spending the night alone - _again_ , while someone out there probably wanted you dead.

You flash Emily a quick smile and excuse yourself to the ladies’ room as she carefully watches you enter the restaurant. Once inside you try your best to hold in the tears, the harsh lighting oddly illuminating the top of your face, washing you out. You grip the edges of the cool sink, trying to even your breathing but the tears come as though they have a life of their own, falling down your cheek. 

Your eyes sting and your chest burns as you finally let yourself cry again, you feel it long overdue, the loneliness, the isolation, the danger. All of it rearing its ugly head. You try to stifle the sobs from your chest, desperate whimpers escaping from your throat as it gets harder and harder to breathe. 

A door handle turning suddenly startles you, making you jump. You clear your throat, your voice coming nasally. “Occupied.” 

Loud knocks come this time, making rapid contact with the wood on the other side. “I said it’s occupied!” You call out, louder this time. 

It’s silent for a moment before loud thumps and grunts come from the other side, as your heart drops, your knees weak. Your wide eyes dart around the bathroom when the door starts to heave, the hinges rattling as the person on the other side attempts to break it down. 

You back away with shaky legs, trying to get as far away from the door as possible. You don’t even realise when you start screaming for help, the noise in the bathroom rising, suffocating you. A high pitched whine penetrates your skull, your hands and face sweaty, heart thrumming as you shake. Your vision tunnels and you feel nausea rising in your stomach. 

The thumping suddenly subsides, a breathy laugh coming from the other side, as you fall to the floor, the cold hard tile against the back of your thighs. You find it hard to breathe, your vision is clouded by black spots, and you realise you’re still calling out for help, your voice screeching. 

“Ma’am?” A young woman’s voice comes from the other side. “Ma’am are you in there?” She asks, panic rising in her voice. 

You hear Hotch’s voice on the other side, speaking to the woman, followed by the sound of keys. Relief washes over you temporarily but you can’t bring yourself to get up or even move slightly, your body frozen. The young woman manages to open the door after shakily fumbling with the keys, Hotch brushing past her. 

The sight of you on the bathroom floor, sweaty, cried out and so vulnerable does something to him he can’t quite explain. You’re curled into a ball in the corner of the bathroom under the sink, your knees against your chest, your hands clutching your head as you rock slightly. He’s furious and devastated in equal measure, doesn’t quite know how to proceed. Protocol dictates he ask you what happened, take you to a secure location, obtain evidence. 

_Screw protocol._

He gets down on your level, shrugs off his suit blazer and wraps it around you, not bothering to move you off the wall, the blazer covering you like a blanket. He whispers off the young employee to block off the bathroom area, his hand reaching up to push some matted hair off your face. 

He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, the question entirely redundant if your current state is anything to go by. Figures it’s futile, patronising, even. 

“Hey, it’s me. Can you hear me?” He whispers. Your eyes are still closed and you’re hyperventilating, droplets of sweat on your forehead as you rock back and forth. He hesitantly brings his other hand to your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek. “ _Hey._ ” 

You hold onto his forearm. _“Aaron?”_

“ _Come here._ ”

You close the small amount of distance between you and lean forward to throw yourself into his arms, hanging onto his shoulder as sobs wrack your body. His arms awkwardly wrap around you, his blazer and your legs in the way, but he holds you close nonetheless, his hand running up and down your back as he shushes you. He remembers reading once, that even pressure around the ribs can help with nervous system dysregulation so he squeezes tight, whispering encouragement into your ear.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay. I got you. Breathe with me.” He doesn’t let go as he breathes exaggeratedly, wanting you to take his lead. His presence allows you to find a tandem with the rise and fall of his chest while he rubs smooth lines up and down your back. “That’s good, you’re doing really good, sweetheart.” 

He has a lump forming in his throat and rage bubbling in his chest. He thanks God that he’d arrived here just in time and made the decision to run into the restaurant to speak to you when he did. He’d heard the sound of you screaming from the back of the restaurant right as he was about to ask the waitress if she’d seen you, and saw red as he’d sprinted through the booths and tables to get to you. 

_He was going to kill this son of a bitch._

You fall limp in his arms as your breathing regulates, your chest and the back of your throat aching like you just ran a marathon - your head feels like a brick. You let your eyes flutter closed and bury your face into the crook of Hotch’s neck, inhaling his scent. You remember back to the day you first met, almost four months ago now, the cold Virgina air, the rain, the way he’d given you his blazer - your body relaxes slightly. 

The noise of the hustle and bustle outside the bathroom area starts to become louder as you finally start feeling present again, feeling returning to your hands and feet.

You hear a familiar voice right outside. “You need to let me in, it’s my friend in there.” You blink your eyes open.

Ma’am. It’s a crime scene, I’m afraid you can’t go in there.” A stern voice replies. 

“What? A- a crime scene? Let me through.” She says defiantly.

_Emily._

You hear a commotion and footsteps approaching, a shadow getting bigger as you release yourself from Hotch’s arms, using the back of your hand to wipe your face. She appears in the doorway then, a horrified look on her face as she gasps, the waiter trailing behind her, an embarrassed look on his face. 

Hotch turns to look at her and back at you, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you, concern etched on his face as you communicate wordlessly. 

He raises his eyebrows.

_You okay?_

You nod. 

_Yeah._

“ _Honey._ ” She gasps. Hotch moves over to the side, standing up and offers Emily a tight smile as he brushes off his pant legs and hands. She sinks to her knees on the floor, sitting next to you, her arm around your shoulder, inviting you close to her. Her other hand rubs your thigh gently, and you lay your head on her shoulder, your hands wrapping around the one she has in your thigh and you squeeze. Her other hand gently brushes over your hair, as she inhales and exhales with you, her comforting presence something that you’d been sorely missing. 

Hotch signals to excuse himself to Emily and she just nods, allowing him to leave. She doesn’t ask what happened, she doesn’t speak, she doesn’t move. Just offers herself to you as her heart breaks a little at the sight of you. 

It’s around ten minutes later that Hotch returns, voices overlap through police radios as he shoos a police officer away. He crouches down to your level, a small smile on his face. 

“Hey.” He rubs a hand on your shin. “We ready to go?”

You heave a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, get me the hell out of here.” You huff. You glance at Emily. “You’re coming right?”

“Of course.” She whispers with a smile, her hand squeezing yours. “I’m gonna grab some stuff from my place first, okay? I can be at yours in an hour.”

You nod. Hotch holds out his hand to help you up, collecting his blazer and draping it around your shoulders, rubbing them as he does, to reassure you. He places a hand on the small of your back, nodding at the waiter as he shows the three of you out of the back exit, Emily walking behind you. Hotch’s car is parked right outside the service entrance in the back alleyway, and you smile up at him, thankful that you wouldn’t have to walk out to the front again. 

“I’ll see you soon, honey.” Emily hugs you as you wrap your arms around her waist, squeezing tight. She places a protective kiss on your temple and nods at Hotch as she walks around to get her car. You watch her turn the corner and take a deep breath.

“Hey. Let’s get you home.” 

\------


	8. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch and Emily work together to help reader, and Emily picks up on some behaviour displayed by him. Reader and Hotch get closer to a realisation while Haley seems to be hiding something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emily-heavy chapter, mentions of Haley.

_“Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us.”_ \- **David Richo**

**\------**

You stare absently out of the window, clutching the lapels of Hotch’s blazer that he’d draped over you. Every so often, you feel the dread in your bones again, a brief moment when your stomach drops as you remember back to earlier. You inhale long and deep when you do, trying to ground yourself and the action doesn’t slip Hotch’s attention who sits next to you, gripping the steering wheel so hard, the leather might wear. 

He glances at you. “It’s okay. Sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Your eyes feel heavy, drooping of their own accord. You try your best to fight your exhaustion, but the exertion only serves to heighten the throbbing in your temple. You glance over at Hotch as you set your head against the cool glass of the window, the buzz of the car engine and the heater lulling you to sleep. 

The sun is almost set when you wake up, your eyes blinking rapidly as you try to adjust to the dark. You’re parked outside of your apartment building and Hotch scribbles something on a notepad next to you, using the streetlight to illuminate the page. 

He clears his throat when he spots you stirring from the corner of his eye. He sits up straight. “Hey.” He whispers with a smile. 

“Hey.” Yu inhale deeply and adjust in your seat to face him. “How long have I been out?” You ask. 

He checks his watch and raises his eyebrows in surprise. “About an hour.” 

He’d lost track of time himself and completely screwed protocol. He’ll pay for that later, he thinks.

“An hour?” You exclaim.

“Yeah.” He winces. “I’m sorry. You looked really peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.” 

Truth is, he had spent the better part of that hour watching you as you’d slept when he’d parked up, the setting sun casting a golden hue on your skin. He’d debated carrying you up to your apartment but didn’t want to chance waking you, even turned his phone off. Another thing he’ll pay for later, he thinks. 

Headlights appear behind you, and a car pulls up to the sidewalk at your rear. Hotch peers at the rear view mirror and squints, the lights almost blinding in the dark. You turn around in your seat to get a better view.

“Emily.” You reassure him when you see the familiar figure in the driving seat. He shoots you a puzzled look, his eyebrows furrowed. “My friend. From the restaurant.” You remind him.

You start to undo your belt and Hotch climbs out of the car, making his way around the front of his car to open your door, offering you a hand as you step out. 

Emily walks towards where you stand next to Hotch, the two of them offering each other polite smiles. Hotch extends his hand to take Emily’s bags from her, as she immediately gathers you into another hug. He holds the doors open for you and Emily, waits until you guys are inside to trail behind you, giving a quick nod to the two undercovers pulling up on either side of the street. 

“Wait. Why were you guys still outside, you should’ve beat me here, right?” Emily asks. 

——--

You reach your hands for the main light switch when you step into your apartment, Hotch setting Emily’s bags down on your sofa, turning a table side lamp on and setting his keys down as he does. Emily tracks his movements carefully. 

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror in the hallway, your makeup smudged, eyes still puffy from the tears and sleep. 

You groan.“I need a shower.” 

“Are you going to be okay?” Emily asks, concern etched in her face. 

“Yeah, I think I can handle a shower.” You chuckle dryly.

You tell Emily and Hotch to make themselves at home while you freshen yourself up. You shrug off Hotch’s blazer, gathering the sleeves and the lapels and folding it in half, placing it back in Hotch’s arms. His face betrays his cool and collected demeanour, his eyebrows pinched and his eyes wide as he watches you move closer to him. He looks nervous, as though you’re about to break. He wants to reach out and hold you close, brush the stray hairs off your face, wipe your eyes. He settles instead for a light brush of your fingers against his when you hand him his blazer - a ghost of a touch, really. That doesn’t stop you both from shivering a little at the contact. 

Once you step into the shower, Hotch and Emily take the chance to get to know one another better. He extends his hand towards her, introducing himself. 

“Agent Hotchner. Aaron.” 

She takes his hand. “Emily. Prentiss.”

Hotch circles around your couch and to the kitchen, opens the fridge and helps himself to a bottle of water, Emily’s eyes stay trained on him as he does. He offers her a bottle, she declines with a quick shake of her head. 

He goes on, “So, how do you guys know each other?”

“We’re friends through our parents.” She explains. “I’ve known her since she was a kid.” She stalks over the kitchen island, propping her elbows on the counter, her gaze pointedly falling to his water bottle. “I think the more important question, though, is how do _you two_ know each other? You certainly seem comfortable.” 

Hotch follows her gaze to the water bottle in his hand, stutters guiltily, but can’t really place why he feels that way. 

It throws him off. “I was- I’m. The ambassador, he-” Emily raises her eyebrows challengingly. “I’m a part of the security detail assigned to her after the events of last year.” 

“I thought that was the other guy.” She asks. “The older guy with the beard?” 

He takes a sip of his water and nods. “That’s my partner. Agent McCall. Ben.” She nods approvingly and he relaxes a little. 

“So, where are you with catching this guy?”

He updates Emily and provides her with the profile they’d worked on, a pinch of guilt when he remembers how he’d avoided you for those two weeks. He shakes it off and suggests Emily take a cognitive interview, ushering her to to take a seat, remembering that she would probably be the best witness of this afternoon. 

“I’m going to need to ask you to close your eyes.” She shoots him a doubtful look. “Humour me.” 

She clears her throat, closing her eyes.

He continues, “Okay. Think back to when you’re at the restaurant, what it smells like, what it sounds like, what the weather is like.” 

She nods and inhales slightly, as if breathing in the smells back at the restaurant. She talks him through the warm weather, the sun shining. How she got there first and how she saw undercovers pull up before you and McCall arrived. 

“How did you know they were UC’s?”

Her eyes blink open and she shrugs. “Occupational hazard, I guess.” Hotch frowns. “Well, my mother’s occupation - but, same difference.” She laughs.

“Okay, well, what about afterwards? When you guys sat down?” 

“We were just talking, I don’t know?” 

“Okay, focus. Go back to when you greeted her. You guys sat down? What did you guys talk about? What made her leave?”

She tells Hotch that you just caught each other up after everything you had missed since you briefly lost touch, that you'd told her about your stalker.

“Why did you guys lose touch?”

“My mother was in Rome for a year.” She shrugs. “We tried to keep up but she had school and personal stuff. We talked about her dad’s health scare, her ex-”

“-Her _ex_?”

Emily blinks at Hotch, gauging his expression carefully. He’s questioning her under the guise of work, but he’s not that good at concealing his microexpressions - yet. She doesn’t miss the way his face falls for a split-second, or the way he tried to nonchalantly question her about Jordan by cutting her off, the bob in his Adam’s apple as he’d swallowed. 

“ _Yeah_..” She trails off. She thinks carefully about how to proceed, still watching him carefully. “They broke up last year and I guess they reconnected recently.” She says the last part flatly, with little intonation, wants to see his real expression. 

She has a sneaking suspicion that there’s something that extends further than just work for him - maybe even more than friendship, especially after she had seen the way he had held you earlier, the way he touches you like fragile glass, the way he swallows when you come too close. But she wants to be sure.

“What’s his name?” He asks, his left eyebrow arched. 

His nostrils flare slightly and he sniffs nonchalantly as he pulls out a notepad and pen from his blazer pocket that’s thrown on the chair. He writes down Jordan’s name and tries his best to keep a hold on himself. He can finally put a name to the face he saw you with after you visited Quantico that day. 

_Reconnected?_

What does that mean? _Reconnected?_

He takes his details from Emily and asks her some questions about him - he justifies it to himself as procedure. He’s going to have to question this person after all, why not learn a bit more about him to gain the upper hand? Emily just tells him you guys dated on and off until you broke it off for good. 

“And why’s that?” 

“Why’s what?” Emily asks. 

“Why did she break it off?”

“I don’t know. She never really said. He’s just _weird_.” 

All she really knows about him is that his father’s a congressman and works on the Hill - Ambassador Prentiss has far reaching arms, after all. She remembers seeing him at dinner parties and society balls growing up, but that’s around it. 

“And what happened next?”

“After that, her mood changed. She was laughing one minute and quiet the next - I could tell something was bothering her.” She picks at her fingernails. “And then she left. After that, I don’t know what happened.” Her voice is almost a whisper, she thinks maybe if she had done something, if she had said something, reached out sooner - maybe none of this would have happened. 

“I know what you’re thinking, alright. Don’t do that, don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.” 

“Yeah.” 

She hears the words, but it doesn’t alleviate the guilt she’s feeling right now. Her stomach drops suddenly as she thinks back to something she remembered feeling while at the restaurant, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. 

Hotch sits up straight. “You just remembered something, what is it?” 

Emily’s eyes widen. “I felt like someone was watching me.” She says, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I thought maybe I was being paranoid about the UC’s or your partner.” She trails off again. “But right before you got there, I was just browsing the menu. There was a guy. He bumped into my table but I couldn’t see his face, it was - it was sunny and he- he was wearing a hat.” She rushes out, gesticulating with her hands. “He squeezed my shoulder when he apologised as he walked past, I remember thinking it was gross, because he _lingered_.” She shudders.

“Okay. You’re doing really good. What else?” 

“Well, when you guys left out the back, I walked back to the front to get my car. I had the feeling somebody was watching me again.”

“ _Why_?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you feel somebody was watching you? Think.”

“I heard a voice. His voice.” She panicks. “Oh my God, he was talking to a cop. I remember hearing him telling the cop that the screaming was so loud. He said it sounded like someone was _dying_. But he wasn't looking at the cop, he was looking right at me.” She feels nauseous.

He nods. “Excuse me.” He ducks out of your apartment to make a ten minute phone call to Barnes, rattles off the information he got in his cognitive with Emily. “We need to question the staff and any cops that responded today. CCTV, too.” 

He hangs up and sees three missed calls from Haley, groans when he realises the time. She’s probably asleep but he figures he can still call her, at least she’ll know he checked in. He paces the length of the hallway, the phone to his ear and he waits for the inevitable command to leave a message. He’s about to hang up when the receiver clicks, Haley’s voice coming from the other end. 

“Hello?” She pants.

“Hey, it’s me.” He frowns. “Are you alright, why are you out of breath?” 

“I had to run to grab the phone.” She chuckles. “What’s up?”

He’s surprised he isn’t getting the third degree, that she isn’t more mad. He figures they’re still good after their make-up high, both of them vowing to do better. 

Still. 

He clears his throat. “Nothing. I just wanted to check in.” He can hear rustling in the background, figures she’s probably cleaning or about to tuck in for the night. “I don’t think I’ll be home until around 1 or 2am, we had a situation.” 

“Okay. That’s alright, honey. You take your time, I’ll see you when you get home, okay?” She sounds chipper.

“Yeah.” He’s caught a little off guard at how laid back she’s being but he figures he doesn’t want to jinx it and count his blessings too quickly, bids her a quick goodbye. 

He’s about to make the walk back down the hallway into your apartment, when the elevator dings behind him, McCall stepping out. 

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting you for another few hours.” Hotch says patting him on the shoulders. 

“Barnes told me what happened, I figured I’d come and relieve you, it’s 11 o'clock man.” 

Hotch runs a hand over his face and groans. Truth is, he’s shattered and wants nothing more than to just find the closest bed and sleep undisturbed for at least 12 hours.

Inside, you’re rattling around in the kitchen, pulling pots and pans from the cupboards, setting some pasta on the hob when Hotch and McCall walk in. 

“ _Hey_! You’re out of the shower.” Hotch scratches the back of his head sheepishly when he hears his tone, and realises everybody else just heard it too. 

Emily watches him with a smile and McCall just ducks his head and clears his throat, reaches to shake Emily’s hand and introduce himself. 

“Yeah. I- I feel a lot better. Thanks.” You smile. “I realised none of us ate all day though, and cooking soothes me, so pasta it is.” 

Emily reaches up to your cupboards for some more glasses, two already in her hand. “You guys staying?” 

_Please stay._

“Ben will be, but I gotta get home, sorry. Maybe next time?” Hotch offers. 

_Oh._

You can’t ignore the disappointment in your chest when Hotch turns to walk out, but you swallow it down and say goodbye, anyway. You weren’t quite ready to let go of him today, he was a comforting presence and you’re not really on even footing yet - for some reason he helps to centre you. The disappointment you hold in your shoulders isn’t missed by Emily who offers you a knowing smile and motions over to the sofa where Hotch’s blazer lies. 

Your eyes widen as you set down the knife and circle around the island to grab the item, shooting her an awkward smile as you do. You click the door shut behind you. 

“Hold the elevator!” 

Hotch’s hand comes up between the two doors as they’re about to close, his eyebrows furrowed when he sees you jogging towards him. He steps out as you close the distance between you. 

“You forgot your blazer!” You sigh. 

“Ah.” He apologises quickly and goes to take it from you, but you open up the lapels and sleeves motioning for him to put in on instead. 

“It’s cold outside.” You whisper.

You hold it out to him and he tucks his arms into the sleeves, stepping into it as you help him put it on as he bends slightly so he can meet your height. You absentmindedly brush some dust off the shoulders as he turns back to you, a small smile on his face. You’re so close to him and he can’t find it in himself to look away, his gaze flitting to your lips. He can smell your soap, feel the heat radiating off your body. 

You clear your throat and step back a little. 

You share a look, a dangerous, vulnerable gaze that feels like it’s stripping you both bare. It’s there in front of you, something that hangs unspoken in the air, glaringly obvious, yet you both neglect to face it. 

“Well. I should-” he points to the elevator behind him. You nod when he presses the button for the elevator to return, the floor numbers appearing above the doors. 

You chew on your lip, frozen in place, unable to leave but unable to do what you actually want to do. It’s only when he steps on to the elevator and is staring at his shoes that you call out to him again. 

“ _Aaron_?” 

“Yes?” He says almost immediately, head whipping up. 

You try to formulate the words but your head still feels jumbled, too busy and you’re beginning to have an alarming realisation that you desperately want to push to the back of your mind. You don’t know how to say what you’re feeling, panic rising - you only know that your emotions are bubbling over and you want to say something, do something to show your gratitude. 

“I just.” You take a step forward. “ _Thank you_.” You shake your head, not knowing what else to say. 

Almost on instinct, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, stepping on your toes to reach him, burying your face in his neck. The air leaves his chest as you embrace him, the unexpected, but long awaited contact taking him by surprise. His warm hard body is solid against you, as he ducks down, his arms wrapping around your waist, one hand coming around to your ribs. 

He squeezes gently, inhaling the scent of your hair, the two of you just sharing a brief moment, quiet in the chaos. Your arms flex around his shoulders, holding him close - close enough to make him feel what you want to say. His own hands flex and tighten, warm over your sweater, almost radiating heat as he brings you closer to himself. 

He swallows thickly, his heart pounding. Absurd thoughts penetrate his mind, a realisation dawning on him that he tries like hell to push deep back down into the abyss. It doesn’t help that you’re right in front of him, warm and comforting, intoxicating. 

But he can’t. 

It’ll pass he thinks. 

You stay in the moment for what seems like a long while, the elevator ding breaking you out of your moment. You sniff slightly and loosen your grip on him, his arms unwinding from around your waist, the both of you bereft at the loss of contact. Your cheeks brush as you let yourself down, his coarse beard hair scratching pleasantly against your face. Your hands trail down his chest slowly over his dress shirt, the tip of his nose against your forehead. Your eyes flutter from the gentle contact as you glance up at him, his eyes hooded, one hand still on your rib. His thumb rubs gently, back and forth over your sweater, hand radiating heat, his gentle eyes staring back at you, taking you in. 

You swallow thickly and force yourself away from his magnetic pull, stepping back gently, before you do something you regret. Your arms cross over your chest in an automatic act of self-preservation and unconscious comfort. He steps back into the elevator, his cheeks a little flushed, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips - but there’s something in his eyes. Something intense, that pulls at you and you daren’t let yourself hope and be carried away by it again. 

You feel it. _But he couldn’t possibly_ , you think. 

He feels it. _But you couldn’t possibly,_ he thinks.

“Goodnight.” He whispers, his voice hoarse. 

“Night, Aaron.” 

———

The lights are off when he gets home around 25 minutes later, only their bedroom window illuminated. He thinks maybe Haley fell asleep waiting up for him, he wasn’t supposed to be home for another few hours yet anyway. He quietly closes the door when he gets in, toes his shoes off and tip toes across the floor to get himself a drink of water before he heads up. He takes special care to remain light on his feet as he walks, he knows the worn old floorboards in their cheap rental home creak horribly, even at the lightest pressure. 

Almost on cue, the floorboards creak upstairs directly above him but travel towards the end of the upstairs hallway. His ears perk up as he follows the sound, travelling back from the end of the upstairs hallway after a few moments, and down the stairs as Hotch walks out of the kitchen curiously, glass still in hand. He walks out to Haley running down the stairs, her face flushed. 

“Hi! Honey! You’re home.” She pants a little. 

She throws herself into his arms and he finds himself a little rigid and unable to fully return her embrace. His face contorts and he finds his mind wandering to the way you’d slotted against his body perfectly, the smell of your hair, your cheek against his. 

He feels a tug at his chest. 

She releases him and plants a kiss on his lips, but his eyes stay open, eyebrow quirked slightly in confusion.

“I thought you’d be asleep. I didn’t hear anything when I got in.” He tells her. 

She grabs his hand and pulls him upstairs. “Well I was getting ready for bed when I heard you pull up.” She chirps. 

It’s odd, he thinks, her tone of voice. Especially at this time of night, and he can’t ever remember her being so happy to see him, especially after a full day of work. She’s usually the opposite, full of biting sarcasm and jabs. She seems on edge now, teetering on the edge of hyper. The bedding is rumpled and he frowns at that, has never known Haley to unmake their bed unless it was right before bed. He can’t find it in himself to think too deeply into it, though, the sight of a bed inviting nonetheless. 

He loosens his tie a little more, and finally lets out a yawn, turning to go to the main bathroom to get ready for bed. 

“Where are you going?” Haley asks, eyebrows raised, a tight smile on her face. 

He points out to the hallway. “ _To the bathroom_?”

She shoots up. “No, no! The faucet. It’s uh, well I don’t know what it is, but it’s not working. Gotta call the plumber, I guess.” She rattles off in a single breath. 

He concedes. “ _Fine_.” He’s exhausted and all he wants is to sleep. 

He ducks into their small not-even-a-half-bath ‘ensuite’, that consists only of a toilet and a sink. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and realises he looks even worse than he feels, he didn’t realise that was possible. He neglects brushing his teeth tonight, settles for swilling some mouthwash and changing into his shorts and calls it.

Haley isn’t there when he emerges from the bathroom, a frown on his forehead soon appears at her almost skittish behaviour. He can’t summon the energy to care too deeply, though, slipping under the covers, sleep calling out to him. She reappears moments later, telling him that they had forgotten to turn the downstairs lights off before they came up. 

“Hm.” He replies, already half asleep. 

He only hums as she slips in next to him, their backs to one another. He dips into an almost instant deep sleep, rest coming easy to him once the thoughts of your warm embrace surround him, granting him solace. 

Haley on the other hand, lies perfectly rigid, her hands under her head on the pillow, her mind swimming and heart pounding as she listens for the receding footsteps in their front yard. 

———


End file.
